Harry Potter and the Token of Hidden Prophecies
by Dante Lewis
Summary: AU The name trailing from under his brother’s name sprang out on the worn, faded tapestry. Questions had followed… questions Sirius sure as hell wanted answered. Who was Arcturus Black, where was he, and what did the Dark Lord want with the boy? OotP
1. Woven in Time

**Disclaimer: **Anything that is recognisable is borrowed from _Order of the Phoenix_. The world of Harry Potter does, of course, belong to Jo, but the OC is mine.

**Updated: **Monday 1st January 2007 (got to get used to writing that!)  
**Edited: **Wednesday 2nd January 2008 (where _has_ the year gone?) Story is now as DH compliant as I care to make it. Major changes pertain to Arcturus' dealings with Kreacher.

**Chapter 01: Woven In Time**

Time was standing still. Sirius could not believe his eyes. The afternoon had started like any other. With a house full of Weasleys, as well as his godson and the feminine third of the 'Gryffindor Trio' underfoot, the adults had been at odds about how to keep the teenagers busy… and indoors. They had just completed de-doxy-fying the drapery in the front rooms of the ancient and noble house of Black when it had happened. Attention had been drawn to the tattered old tapestry that had once proudly illustrated seven centuries of lineage, and Sirius had played the part of accommodating host by pointing out a few of the more notorious members of his family's ancestry.

The easily overlooked line of thread trailing from under his brother's name sprang out on the worn, faded cloth like a beacon once the keen Seeker's eyes had alerted him to its existence. Questions had followed… questions Sirius could not answer. Questions that were coming to his mind before even leaving the lips of the surrounding teenagers. Later, Sirius made a note to thank Hermione for her insightfulness, the girl having swiftly shepherded the conversation away from the tapestry's startling revelation, thus allowing Sirius to wallow in his shock. Yes, he had his own questions, and they had to be answered first.

Surprisingly, it appeared that more than one Black had succeeded in eluding the omniscient headmaster, with the old man as much in the dark as the escaped convict. A frenzied search of the ancestral home leant to the theory that someone had returned to the house in the time since the death of Sirius' mother. Only Blacks of the direct line – that is, from his father's side – could have had access to the property, and according to the tapestry the next to last of the direct line had died as recently as three years earlier. Whatever the case, there was no sign that either of Sirius' parents had known about their unexpected grandchild… and Sirius knew the child was unexpected since the boy had been born before he'd even gone to Azkaban and he'd not heard anything until now.

Of course, there were still the odd drawer or cupboard that no amount of magic could open – and Sirius was loath to try – but for all intents and purposes the only evidence remained the half-hidden name on the bottom of the wretched tapestry.

_'Arcturus Black. 1979 – ' _

No date of death had been given. A second name above the illusive Black heir detailed a union between his brother and a woman named Eleanora von Astor. Since the family tree did not detail the birth and death details of Black spouses, Sirius had no way of knowing if the woman was dead or alive; let alone if she had remarried and raised the child by a different name. With the manner in which Regulus had died, Sirius could see the logic in the younger man's wife and child going into hiding.

What side of the war this strange new sister-in-law was on, Sirius did not know; but he was inclined to find out. Despite everything that had transpired between himself and his brother, he just couldn't feel right discarding the bonds of blood without knowing he had at least tried first. He may have been raised to be competitive with and against his younger sibling, but he had never managed to hate Regulus like he did their parents. Regulus was a soft touch; he may have been stupid and malleable to their mother's every whim, but Sirius just couldn't hate him for it. The younger Black had barely been nine when Sirius had 'shamed the family' by being Sorted into Gryffindor, and though Sirius had been unable to appreciate it at the time, Regulus really didn't know any better.

In the years following his emancipation from his parent's clutches, Sirius had kept a lazy eye on his brother's progress. Only Regulus could have left school with only his OWLs and taken a dead-end job in Knockturn Alley with their parent's approval. 'Sponsored' mentions in the society pages of the Daily Prophet had hinted to a teenaged romance between his brother and an illusive 'foreigner', but as the war intensified, Regulus dropped from the social radar, and Sirius' attentions. The older brother had readily assumed that Regulus' going to ground coincided with his association with the Dark Lord… he'd never dreamed that the kid had run off and started a family of all things.

Sitting now at his father's old desk, the rich mahogany one of the few pieces of furniture charmed to maintain its grandeur; Sirius contemplated the letter he'd never imagine he'd have to write. Reflecting some more as the words struggled to form in his mind, Sirius was reminded of all the unanswered letters Regulus had attempted to send him in the years immediately prior to his untimely death. At first, Sirius had humoured the teenager's solicitations, reading each letter his brother sent him as the deluded Slytherin preached to him about the virtues of obedience and the 'honour' of Slytherin house. But as the letters kept coming, never saying anything new, Sirius simply stopped reading them; sending them back unopened. Now, for the first time, Sirius began to wonder just what may have been in those later letters, and he found himself feeling a little of what Regulus may have felt each time he'd attempted to send a letter. At the time, Sirius had been of the arrogant mind that if his brother had something truly important to say, then he would not have restricted his words to a letter precedent ensured would not be read. Now, however, as Sirius found himself with no other means of locating this mysterious leg of his family, he could only hope that the intended recipients were smarter than himself.

Tying the awkward, short note to the talon of the Order's most inconspicuous owl, Sirius wondered what awaited the bird at the other end. Was his brother's wife still living? There was certainly no record of any new Black attending Hogwarts… had another man claimed the boy as their own? A few discreet enquiries had revealed that his brother's wife had indeed gone missing around the time of her husband's death and that the girl's parents lived in north-eastern Europe, leading quiet, unobtrusive lives – entirely apart from the pending battle raging between purebloods in the isles. Sirius could only hope that his brother's widow and son were absconded in the maternal family compound, staying far away from the influences that had ultimately corrupted and killed Regulus.

Fully anticipating the owl's round-trip to take upwards of a week, Sirius was surprised to find a reply tapping on his window early the next morning. Gingerly removing the neatly attached envelope from the small bird's talon, Sirius recognised his father's distinctive wax seal immediately.

'Well, that's one mystery solved,' he thought to himself.

Unceremoniously breaking the blood-red seal – the unrecognised head of the family too familiar with the Black crest and all its sinister undertones to revere it – Sirius unfolded the equally short reply to his initial correspondence.

_There are some matters that cannot be trusted to an owl. I am waiting outside in the square. Come alone in whatever disguise you feel you require; I will find you. _

_Arcturus P. Black _

A shiver went down Sirius' spine; he had to consciously remind himself that the letter in his possession was penned by a boy no older than 16, and not by the child's namesake. The correspondence was typical of the Blacks of old: direct and to the point, devoid of personal affectations, yet not without an agenda. The Slytherin-raised side of Sirius could see the test within his nephew's words; the challenge calling upon his impulsive Gryffindor character to blindly demonstrate his trust. It did not escape Sirius' thoughts that the timely invitation could be a trap, but he knew implicitly that if he attempted to prolong things, he'd lose all chance of reconciliation.

One benefit of being a Black in the ancient and noble house thereof was that avenues of escape had a habit of presenting themselves unbeknownst to the guests within its walls. Truth be told, it was not the first time Sirius was contemplating a trip outside, but with the trappings of a mid-summer dawn set to blanket the sky within the hour, it would be the first time he'd ventured out without the cover of darkness.

"If I'm caught, I'll never hear the end of it," he mumbled to himself, undecided on what he feared more: the Ministry, or Molly Weasley's reprisals for non-compliance.

Casting a basic appearance charm over his hair and a Notice-me-Not charm that would repel any who were not aware of his presence, Sirius could only hope that it would be enough. Favouring the dewy grass over the loud gravel of the garden path, Sirius scanned the seemingly empty square self-consciously. Hands burrowing deep into the pockets of his overcoat, fingers instinctively gripping the handle of his wand as his ears strained to pick up the faintest sounds, Sirius was alarmed to note how exposed and cagey he felt in the open air. Although the note had warned him that he would be sought, the sudden presence behind him was almost enough to send him leaping out of his skin… particularly because he hadn't picked up on the stealthy approach.

"A little jumpy, aren't we?" an amused voice leered, causing Sirius to spin around, wide-eyed. "I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be as brave as they are stupid."

Squaring his shoulders in indignation, Sirius narrowed his eyes at the strange looking boy who had caught him unawares. His sharp retort died on his lips when took in the boy's appearance. The Arcturus Black who had written that note – the one whom Sirius had pictured in his mind – looked nothing like the scrawny, dishevelled, vagrant before him.

"Don't look so surprised, you're not the only Black with cause to be incognito," Arcturus said airily, looking his newly acquainted uncle up and down critically. "Though if I must say, you didn't really try very hard."

"You wouldn't have recognised me if I had!" Sirius protested weakly, only to be swiftly cut off by a short, mirthless laugh.

"I've been tracking your movements for the past month," said the teen with a snort. "I am more than capable of identifying your gait, particularly since you never saw fit to alter it at all during all those midnight sojourns. If I were you, I'd count my blessings that no one else was paying attention."

"How could you have known it was me?" demanded Sirius, spluttering. He'd worn a full compliment of different Glamours all those other times he'd ventured outside the boundaries of the family home.

Arcturus snorted again, this time shaking his head slowly.  
"Are you entirely unaware of the books in our forefather's collection?" he raised a brow and grinned malevolently. "There are ways… if you are resourceful…"

Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Sirius grappled with the possible implications of the boy's statement. One question, however, stood out against all else.  
"What have you been doing out here all month?" he asked.

"Hiding," the boy replied without hesitation, his grey-green eyes darting back and forth as though searching for something. "Lucius Malfoy has been trying to 'take me home for the summer' ever since the end of my second year. That first year I'd just gotten into the house before he'd turned up to intercept me here in the square. Last year I accepted a summer internship, working abroad, and so avoided him entirely; and well this year I just can't seem to find the house. I don't suppose you have anything to do with that?"

Though it concerned him that his nephew had been coming back to Grimmauld Place every summer, alone, the only thing that registered in Sirius' mind at that moment was the mention of Lucius Malfoy, in the square.

"Malfoy's been here?" he asked, suddenly on edge.

"Oh don't worry, he doesn't come himself anymore," said Arcturus nonchalantly; "though he does roster a few minions to keep an eye out. He's rather fixated on getting access to the heirlooms inside the house, and Narcissa seems to think an allegiance between Draco and I would be most advantageous."

"What?" Sirius gaped.

"Course, I can't stand the conceited little shite, and I'll not care to be exploited by the man who extorted a ludicrous dowry for his wife's hand."

"If Lucius Malfoy is after you, why stick around in the one place he is most likely to find you?" Sirius waited with baited breath for the boy's response. What he'd really wanted to ask was why the teen hadn't sought him out if he'd supposedly been recognised during his nightly walks, but then he realised that he would not have been very receptive; not before Harry had pointed out his nephew's name on the neglected family tapestry.

Arcturus considered his words before responding. Opening his mouth to speak, he stopped himself quickly, covering with a shrug.  
"The most effective places to hide are in plain sight. Besides, someone had to keep the eyes of Malfoy's men away from the strange goings on," he said dismissively. "Certain contingents of your Order's members are not exactly discreet…"

"Order?" alarm bells started ringing in Sirius' head. He'd never said anything about the Order.

Arcturus raised his brows and nodded grimly.  
"My point exactly," he said. After a brief pause, he added. "It was spelled so that you couldn't see my name, you know… the tapestry, I mean. Did you bring documentation from the house's Secret Keeper, or am I going to have to wait? I am of course assuming that it's a Fidelius in play…"

Sirius nodded distractedly and fumbled around in his pocket for a small piece of parchment before stopping himself short.  
"Wait! How do I even know… I'm sorry to have to say this, but I mean how am I to know that you are who you say you are?"

The teen tilted his head to one side and met Sirius' eyes with a calculating expression.  
"Well considering that I do not recall revealing my identity to you at any point during this riveting little interlude, I'll conclude that you really want a mark of trust, hmm?" At Sirius' awkward nod, the boy sighed imperturbably and rolled his eyes. Without hesitation, he then handed over his wand.

"This is Regulus' wand!" Sirius spluttered in surprise, looking around them distractedly for any signs of Muggles. He was alarmed instead, by how light it had gotten; the grey beginnings of dawn bathing the streetscape in cool steel shadow. His nephew, meanwhile, crossed the road to stand in front of the hidden house, and wandlessly removed his disguise.

Once Sirius was alongside him, the teenager looked up at the older man and spoke.  
"I trust that both your questions are now answered?" he said with an expectant look. The resemblance to his father, Regulus, was unmistakable.

Wordlessly, Sirius showed his nephew the piece of parchment, only to be taken aback by how quickly the house then appeared. Reading the question from his face, Arcturus Black smirked.  
"Of course, it helps that I know what to look for."

Sirius followed his nephew's eyes towards the house that now stood before them, pausing contemplatively. Asides from the brilliant cerulean blue of the teenager's eyes, and the muddy brown of his hair, Arcturus Black was the image of his father. Leading the way up the narrow stone steps that led to the splintered front door, Sirius halted them both before it had a chance to be opened.  
"Has anyone told you…" he said, his mouth dry, "how much you…"

"-Look like my father?" finished Arcturus, sounding bored. With a haunted look crossing over his face, he turned away. "I don't need anyone to tell me that in order to know… are we going inside or what?"

"Yes," said Sirius, sensing yet another thing that needed further explanation, but being too preoccupied by a more immediate issue to pose his questions. "I just need a minute to, um, work out how I am going to explain things…"

The teen stopped in his tracks, his hand pausing on the door handle.  
"Get a hold of yourself!" he snapped. "You're a Black, bloody well act like one! We don't answer to anyone in our house!"

Lips curling in appreciation, Sirius nodded.  
"I'll keep that in mind," he said wryly, squaring his shoulders and pulling himself up a little taller. "But you so clearly have not met Molly."

Arcturus muttered something indecipherable under his breath and proceeded to push the door open. He'd gotten halfway across the hall, his own destination clear in his mind, when Sirius called him back.

"Where are you going?" he said, closing the door behind them softly and scurrying to catch up with the teen, who was now at the bottom of the staircase.

"Upstairs to retrieve what I came for," said the boy without even breaking his stride. He started up the stairs, Sirius hot on his heels.

"Wait! You can't just go charging up there – people are still asleep!" he tried to reason with the child, his voice in a dramatic stage whisper, the weary Animagus eager to not wake his mother's portrait… or anyone else.

Arcturus reached the top landing and stopped suddenly, spinning around on his heels to face Sirius, who jerked to a halt a few steps below the boy, leaving them eye-to-eye.

"I will not slink around the house of my fathers, concealing my rightful presence!" he said in a low voice, his eyes ablaze with fierce determination.

Staring back at the lad in consideration, Sirius weighed out his options, backing away in defeat when he realised that he'd be better served saving himself for other battles. For reasons unknown, the child had evidently grown up in this house, and Sirius did not want to create an unnecessary wedge between them by denying the boy the right to treat the place like his home.

"Fair enough," he said, relenting. "Everyone's going to see you at breakfast anyway… but let me come with you, yeah? Some of my, uh, guests may be inclined to hex first and ask questions later-"

Arcturus shot him a dirty look, as though at odds as to what was the larger insult: being ordered about in his home or treated like an infant.  
"I can handle myself, thank you very much," he said tersely, snatching his wand back from where it had been resting, forgotten, in Sirius' hand. "And for your information, I do not intend to be here for breakfast."

Arcturus was halfway down the hall before the meanings of his words had registered in Sirius' mind; the Animagus left standing stock-still at the top of the stairs. Coming back to his senses just in time to see his nephew standing directly outside the room that slept the youngest male Gryffindors of the house, his protective instincts kicked in.  
"You can't go in there – that's Harry's bedroom!"

His cry of alarm fell on deaf ears, however, as Arcturus strode into the room without hesitation, closing the door in his wake. By the time Sirius reached his godson's room, its occupants had become aware of their unidentified intruder and reacted accordingly. The sight that then met his eyes when he burst into the room was a complete surprise. Harry and Ron were backed up against a wall, their wands sailing across the room in mid-air, towards his nephew's outstretched hand.  
"You'll get these back when I take my leave," the boy promised, looking up to meet his uncle's eyes as he deftly pocketed both wands. "I was duly warned that the guests in this house liked to hex first and question later."

Ron's protests were cut off by a distinguished voice on the wall.  
"Bravo! Bravo, Arcturus!" the pompous portrait of Phineas Nigellus clapped appreciatively, the corners of his pointed beard twitching as he smiled indulgently. "Spectacularly executed, my boy! You've certainly improved since I saw you last! Sirius… I see you've happened across your wayward nephew at last! You'll do well to take a leaf out of his book, young man; this boy's as sharp as they come."

"Hello, Pater Phin," said Arcturus reverently, favouring the oil canvas with a bow. "I thank you for your appraisal. It has been too long."

"Pater Phin?" Sirius mimicked his nephew's words with a look of mild betrayal. The portrait of the former Hogwarts headmaster had clearly known of the boy's existence all this time and yet despite his own innocence being established amongst the images in Dumbledore's office, the Black ancestor had said nothing. Glaring at the former Slytherin head, Sirius could have sworn that the image shrugged, the movement seemingly displaced alongside the self-assured painting's aristocratic pose.

Whilst Sirius had been having a silent staring match with the immortalisation of his grandfather several times over, the two dark-haired teenagers were staging their own stand off.  
"You're Arcturus Black?" said Harry quietly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously. "Sirius' nephew… from the tapestry?"

Arcturus' brows shot up at the younger boy's inarticulate prattling, and he shook his head slowly.

"And people actually wonder why there are those of our kind who believe that Muggles have no place raising wizarding children!" thin lips curled into a disproving sneer. "There's no need for me to ask who you might be – though I must say, your reputation is rather… superfluous."

Ron had found his voice at last.  
"Who do you think you are?" he snapped defensively, loyally placing himself the strange new boy and his best friend. "What do you mean those of our kind? I have nothing against people raised by Muggles… only your Death Eater buddies think that way!"

The change over Arcturus' demeanour was instantaneous. Before anyone could even see what was happening, the older boy had drawn his wand and leapt forward, plunging its tip into the flesh of Ron's neck.  
"Are you calling me a Death Eater?" Arcturus hissed, the teen so angry that his hands were shaking with barely controlled rage.

When Harry threw himself into the mix, trying to physically protect his friend, Sirius came to his senses and stepped in, prying the boys apart.  
"Stop!" he cried out in alarm. Turning to his nephew, he rested a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "No one is calling anyone a Death Eater, all right?"

"You don't sound so convinced," Arcturus said coolly, hearing the doubt in his uncle's voice. Pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, he brandished his unblemished forearm for all to see. "Satisfied?" he glared at the redheaded teenager. "Everyone who does not agree with your principles is not automatically a Death Eater, and I'll have you know that I take particular offence at the suggestion that I would be foolish enough to follow in my father's stead when it resulted in the death of both my parents!"

"Your mother's dead?" Sirius said, dumbfounded, his hand jerking away from the boy's shoulder as though suddenly burned from the shock.

"No," drawled Arcturus sarcastically, "I loiter around park squares and travel alone for my health. Of course she's bloody well dead! Do you really suppose I would have lived here all my life if she were alive?"

"You live here?" said Harry in disbelief, eyes wide.

"I did, this was my room," Arcturus shot back, with an accusing look at Sirius for unwittingly giving his bedroom away. Turning towards a bank of cupboards against the far wall, he set about his business. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some packing to do-"

"Packing?" said Ron dumbly, watching in growing awe as the room's rightful owner effortlessly opened the wardrobe doors and began pulling things out at random. "Hey, how'd you do that? We've tried for weeks to get those doors to open! My brother Bill reckons they were locked with unbreakable charms… and he's a curse-breaker, y'know!"

"Is he?" said Arcturus sarcastically. "Well you'll do well to listen to him then, since these doors were all charmed with unbreakable locking spells."

"Oh, well then how'd you get them to open, then?" said Ron without thinking.

"Because he's the one who locked them that way, you imbecilic boy!" said the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, scowling. "Honestly, I will have to have a word with Dumbledore about just what he's teaching at that school. The standard seems to have been lowered since my day…"

"Indeed," Arcturus agreed, sharing a conspiring look with his forefather before pulling a charmed rucksack from the top shelf of his wardrobe and filling it with possessions.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing?" said Sirius suddenly, realising that his nephew wasn't simply preparing to move into another room. He stepped forward and intercepted a silk-lined winter cloak from being rolled up inside the bottomless travel sack. "I thought you were only messing with me when you said you weren't staying… why don't you stay? If you've got nowhere else to be, I'd like the chance to get to know you; I mean I thought you agreed to meet with me to do that…"

In what was fast becoming a familiar action, Arcturus tilted his head to one side and cocked a brow.  
"If I am not mistaken," he said, tapping a finger to his lower lip in thought, "I do believe that I said only that some matters were not trusted to Owls. Incidentally, I was referring to the collection of my belongings; if you drew another conclusion, then you were mistaken. To be clear, I have no intentions of 'getting to know you'."

Sirius looked as though he had just been slapped. Coming up alongside him and seeing the look that crossed over his godfather's face, Harry leapt to the stunned man's defences.  
"Why not?" Harry blurted. "He's your family, isn't he?"

"So's Bellatrix Lestrange, but you don't see me sending her a birthday card," sneered Arcturus, his nose upturned.

"Yeah, mate, but Sirius is a good bloke, he's one of the good guys," said Ron, looking at Arcturus quizzically.

"This coming from the hothead who accused me of being a Death Eater the last time he opened his mouth," scoffed Arcturus, bowing his head to continue rigorously stuffing things into his rucksack. A hand on his wrist stopped him again, and he looked up into the eyes of his uncle, who was now leaning very close.

"Whether you like it or not, I have a right to know a few things," said Sirius firmly, exerting his power as head of the household. Certain things may be revoked legally, but magical rites of heirloom could never be denied. "I can understand if you don't want to stay here – Merlin, kid, do you think this is the place I'd want to be if I had a choice? – But I will not let you leave until I have some questions answered."

Narrowing his eyes into slits, Arcturus wrenched his wrist out of his uncle's grip and took a step back.  
"Answers?" he growled. "You want answers! You have some nerve, demanding answers from me, you know that?"

At Sirius' blank look, the boy continued to rampage.  
"Maybe if you had actually read the letters my father sent you, then you wouldn't have so many questions!"

Sirius stopped short, staring at the boy in astonishment.  
"You… you know about those?" he said in a hoarse voice.

Seemingly ignoring the man's question, Arcturus turned his back to his uncle and knelt in front of his open wardrobe, leaning inside it slightly. From there, he proceeded to wrench up a panel of flooring within the cupboard, revealing a shallow cavity underneath. Reaching under the floorboard, Arcturus wordlessly pulled a small, rectangular shaped wooden box from its hiding spot and stood, reverently wiping the dust from the carved lid with his sleeve before thrusting the container towards his uncle.  
"He kept every single damn one," said Arcturus in explanation. "Had the seals charmed too, so only you could open the bloody things. It took me two years, but I managed to work around it-"

Sirius accepted the small box and opened it, listlessly thumbing through the envelopes of old parchment inside. Noticing that the seal on each letter had indeed been compromised, he looked up at his nephew uncomfortably.  
"You read them?"

"They're the only thing I have that tell of my parents time together," Arcturus shrugged. "I suggest you take the time to read them before you demand answers from me. Now if you'll excuse me –" he was cut off by the arrival of the house's resident House Elf, " – Kreacher!"

"Little Master has returned!" Kreacher bowed lowly in front of the blue-eyed teen. "Kreacher was hearing the portraits talking… they is saying how much Little Master has grown! Will Master be staying now?"

In a move that surprised everyone, Arcturus' face softened ever so slightly and he crouched down to address the elf eye-to-eye.  
"Good morning, Kreacher," he greeted softly. "I'm afraid I am just passing through, today."

"But Little Master only just got here! Little Master has not been home in over a year!" protested the grovelling elf. "Kreacher is being worried that Little Master has not been taking proper care of himself while he has been outside in the square-"

"-You knew I was out there?" Arcturus cut in, avoiding Sirius' questioning look.

"Kreacher could feel Little Master nearby but did not leave because Little Master told him not to," Kreacher reminded his master, though he sounded rather put out by the restriction. "Kreacher knew Little Master could not get into the Ancient and Most Noble House of his forefathers, but there was nothing Kreacher could do about it-"

"That's a lie!" Sirius hissed at the filthy little elf, sneering in habitual distaste despite the rapport his nephew seemed to have developed. "You could have come to me, you manipulative little rat! How was I supposed to know we'd left a kid out in the cold when we cast that Charm?"

"Don't blame the elf for your own misinformation," said Arcturus coolly, rising to his full height and rounding on his estranged uncle. "Unlike yourself, Kreacher was only following orders."

Sirius gave his nephew a guilty look, but found he was too curious about the boy's apparent tolerance of the family's elf. As though the lad were capable of reading his mind, Arcturus spoke curtly.  
"Why are you so surprised? Malevolence begets malevolence, you do realise… treat an elf well and he will treat you well," he philosophised. Giving Sirius a hard look, he drove his point home. "I want to make it clear now that I will not tolerate this elf being mistreated in my presence. You may have your reasons to hold him in contempt, but it weren't for Kreacher I'd never have inherited my father's wand…"

"How did Kreacher get the thing?" Sirius blurted, his eyes falling upon the dishevelled elf in automatic suspicion. "My brother's body was never recovred…"

"That, my not-so-dear uncle, is a puzzle that will remained solved only between myself and Kreacher," said Arcturus with an air of mysteriousness. "You paid no mind to my father's affairs when he was alive, ergo in my reckoning you are not worthy to know the details of his demise. Not yet, anyway."

Upon hearing the boy's final words, Sirius looked up sharply, his eyes flickering with a hint of hope. Just as suddenly, he felt quite unworthy of the boy's apparent promise, but he could not bring himself to state why.  
"Perhaps one day, then," he said breezily, trying not to sound as curious as he was.

"Perhaps," said Arcturus wistfully, sounding far away. Locking eyes with his uncle, the teen swallowed heavily and sighed. He'd never truly had the opportunity to be close to anybody in his lifetime, all of his love and admiration spent on the parents he never really met. When he was a small boy, first hearing of his uncle through his infamous misdeeds, he used to fantasise that the man would fly in on his broomstick and rescue him from his oppressive grandmother; take him away to regale him with tales of how close the two Black brothers had really been. Of course, this had all been before Arcturus was old enough to read, and had been disinclined to believe the horrible things his habitually negative grandmother had told him. Since learning of the reasons for his uncle's incarceration in Azkaban, he'd began to think differently; and then of course he'd found the letters. Ever since, Arcturus had vowed to not spare a moment for the man who had not even respected his father enough to read a simple letter… and yet now that he had the man right in front of him, in his bedroom… he couldn't help but feel the weight of his solitude crushing in. Had the letters simply been returned unopened, he could have convinced himself that his uncle perhaps did not receive the correspondence, but that the later envelopes were marred with obtuse messages from said addressee, demanding in no uncertain terms to be left alone, Arcturus found his tolerance torn.

Flicking through the stack of envelopes, squared away in the order in which they were originally sent, Sirius' cheeks burned when he came across his own blemished scrawl, and he began to understand. Looking up at his nephew sheepishly, he frowned.  
"I'm not like that… I mean it's not what you think," he said awkwardly. "Your father and I… look, it's just complicated. A long story… and for what it's worth, I am sorry. I wish I had read them, I really do."

Arcturus studied the sincerity on his uncle's face and nodded once, briskly. Turning to the portrait of his forefather for guidance, the proud young man squared his shoulders and held himself tall as he made his decision.  
"Very well," he said carefully, nodding at the portrait as its subject silently conveyed its advice. He turned back to face his uncle. "I will stay until after you have read the letters; to answer any questions you may have – but I won't answer anything before then."

"Thank you," whispered Sirius, his head bowed as he continued staring at the squares of aged parchment. Gesturing towards the door, he looked up at the teenagers. "Why don't we leave Harry and Ron to getting ready? I mean, would you like to accompany me to the study to wait whilst I read these?"

Arcturus considered the older man's request for a moment, lowering his rucksack to the floor and closing the wardrobe slowly.  
"Very well," he replied primly, turning his chin up and stalking past his uncle and towards the doorway, pausing only to give Harry and Ron back their wands, as promised. "I wish to retrieve some volumes from there anyway."

Sirius nodded awkwardly at his nephew, letting him lead the way. Once the strange teenager was out of the room, he shot a bewildered Harry and Ron an apologetic look and quietly excused himself. It didn't need to be said that he wished Arcturus' presence in the house to remain under wraps until they'd both had time to get their heads around things.


	2. Arcturus

**Disclaimer: **Anything that is recognisable is borrowed from _Order of the Phoenix_. The world of Harry Potter does, of course, belong to Jo, but the OC is mine.

**Updated: **Friday 12th January 2007 (two days off, but has been far too hot!)  
**Edited: **Wednesday 2nd January 2008

**Chapter 02: Arcturus**

Settling down in opposite sides of the study, Sirius with his brother's letters and Arcturus with a thick leather tome on medieval blood rituals, the pair sat in tense silence, the room spelled against intrusion. As the context of his brother's increasing desperation became evident in the man's letters, Sirius found himself looking up at his nephew more and more often. The young boy curled up on the armchair, buried in a book, represented his brother's hopes and dreams. Regulus' letters spoke of wanting the best for his unborn son, pleaded with Sirius even to set aside their differences to save another child from their mother's influence. That Sirius had ignored his brother's attempts of contact, effectively condemning the next of their line to an unspeakable childhood made his heart sink. A tear of remorse escaped the corner of his eye and tracked its way down his cheek unchecked. Regulus had faced the birth of his son knowing full well that he and his wife would likely not survive to see him grow.

"Drink," a soft voice said from directly in front of him, Arcturus having procured a glass of what looked like Fire Whiskey and crossed the room to face him without the distraught man even having noticed. Sirius brushed the offered drink away with a dismissive wave, choosing instead to run a shaking hand over his eyes. The voice hardened. "Oh spare me the sentimental hypocrisy, it is unbecoming. Drink."

Ice chinked in the fine crystal sniffler, and Sirius looked up, bleary eyed.  
"No," he said despondently, waving the drink away urgently. "I don't drink… I'm trying to give up."

Arcturus levelled his eyes at his uncle with mild curiosity and shrugged, taking a step back and throwing back the burning amber fluid in one measured swallow.  
"Suit yourself," he said stiffly, setting the empty glass down at the desk behind him before hoisting himself up to sit on its edge, facing him.

Sirius was out of his seat in a flash, gesturing at the glass in protest.  
"When I said I didn't want the damn thing I didn't mean for _you_ to drink it!" he exclaimed, gaping slightly. "You're under-aged!"

"And you're a wanted fugitive, what of it?" said Arcturus smoothly, reaching for the decanter that sat on the edge of the desk and pouring himself another glass. "I think the occasion calls for it, don't you?"

Snatching the glass out of his nephew's hand as the teenaged boy made to take another draught of the intoxicating fluid, Sirius shook his head.  
"It's not even…" he glanced at the clock above his father's desk, "…seven am in the morning! You're only a kid, you can't possibly realise what this drink can do!"

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" said Arcturus nonchalantly, conjuring another beaker to pour himself a shot. At his uncle's incredulous stare, he slammed the decanter down noisily. "What?"

"You don't understand," said Sirius, eying the contents of his glass hungrily – his nephew wasn't far off when he said that the occasion called for a stiff drink. "It was the drink that drove me to Azkaban! I was off my face when I went after Pettigrew! It impaired my judgement!"

Arcturus regarded the Fire Whiskey in his glass with a quizzical expression before throwing his head back and laughing.  
"I'm certain a drink was not the only thing that was impairing _your_ judgement," he said flatly, in what could be taken as either an honest observation of fact or a downright insult. "But if you don't mind, I don't particularly care to have to confront the questions you undoubtedly have with a clear mind."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Sirius backed down and slumped back in his chair. Defeated, he downed the drink he had in his hand. True to his nephew's words, it made him feel better.  
"I'm sorry," he said dejectedly, setting the glass aside and running a hand through his hair. "I'm not really in a position to chastise you, am I?"

"No, you are not," said Arcturus, casting aside his own glass and banishing its contents before slinking from the desk and straightening out his clothes. "But I will abstain from my consumption if it will coax the questions from your lips faster."

"I don't know where to start," said Sirius honestly, busying himself with neatly reorganising the recently-read letters back into their envelopes and original piles, lest he succumb to his reawakened thirst and ask for another drink. "When did your mother die? Her parents are still alive, aren't they? Why aren't you with them?"

"Ah, you've done your homework, then," said Arcturus, crossing the floor to take a seat in an armchair next to Sirius. Without looking at the man, he proceeded to answer the questions posed to him. "My mother died the day I was born. I've not met my maternal grandparents as they blame my father for their daughter's death and want nothing to do with his son. The last I heard of them, they had named a distant nephew as their heir. They refuse to acknowledge that I exist."

"Oh…" said Sirius in surprise, his brow furrowing in concern at the boy's detached delivery. "I thought they were good people-"

"Just because they campaign for the rights of Muggles, doesn't make them 'good'," said the boy pointedly. "Much like how another person's valuation of purity doesn't automatically make them 'bad'. Next question."

"Oh, all right… how did your mother die? Were their complications in childbirth?"

"Are you asking me if I killed my mother?" said Arcturus dispassionately. At Sirius' horrified look, he shook his head. "No, Voldemort ordered her poisoned, to punish my father. Though I suppose in a fashion I _was_ somewhat responsible… the Dark Lord was punishing my father for keeping my existence a secret."

"That doesn't make it your fault," Sirius pointed out quickly, though his words did not quite get through to the faraway teen. Sensing the need to talk about something else, he put forth another question. "So… you were stuck here with my mother, then? I'm sorry…"

"I'm not," Arcturus cut in stiffly, stopping Sirius before the older man could express his apologies once more. Turning to face his uncle fully, Arcturus looked him square in the eye. "My childhood has shaped who I have become. It may not have been what my parents envisioned for me, but I survived. Besides, I cannot blame Grandmother for her discourse. She lost her son and husband in close quarters, suddenly finding herself alone with an infant. In many ways, she loved me as much as she hated me for not only did I remind her of my father, but I represented what he had died for. Grief drove her to madness, and I bore the brunt of her ill attentions, but at the end of the day she knew that to truly harm me would make her loss be in vain. There was always a line, and she never crossed it."

"She died when you were what, five? Six?" said Sirius, having great difficulty in absorbing anything that suggested that his mother had a heart at all.

"A few months shy of my sixth birthday," confirmed Arcturus with a shudder. "Great-Aunt Lucretia and her husband Ignatius moved in after that… and there's a reason why they never had children of their own, let me tell you."

Sirius sat up a little straighter, surprised by the protective instincts that were ignited within him.  
"They… they didn't…" he stammered.

"Hurt me? No," said Arcturus bitterly. "Great-Grandfather Arcturus kept them in line sure enough. Bitter and twisted that the old man was, my father's choice in names served me well with my namesake. He would have taken me in himself if he weren't so old and frail… we shared a mutual distaste towards his daughter's choice in husband, for one. Great-Grandfather was always arguing with Ignatius about money, before his death… I took great pleasure in sending Ignatius out in the street after Aunt Lucretia's followed her father to a timely grave. As I said before, I do not appreciate being taken advantage of, and Ignatius had been squandering my allowance from the Black Trust for years. In the terms of his wife's will he was to receive ownership of the country cottage and a generous stipend. Within six months he'd sold the land and taken lodging in a boarding house not far from Knockturn Alley; I hear he's destitute now."

"I don't understand," said Sirius slowly, shaking his head in confusion. "How could you have gone without a guardian all this time? Surely the Ministry…"

"I was born in my mother's homeland, thus I am outside of the British Ministry's jurisdiction," said Arcturus; "and I do not answer to European laws so long as my place of residence lies off-shore. I am an enigma."

"Don't play me for a fool, kiddo," said Sirius, shaking a finger at the petulant teenager. "You may be out of jurisdiction so far as performing under-aged magic goes, but the Department of Social Services is a separate entity…"

"…who are blissfully unaware of my status," said Arcturus pointedly. "As I may have mentioned in passing, dear cousin Narcissa and her husband have tried to acquire custody of me, but they have done so through unofficial channels, dealing directly with my headmaster in the hope to avoid Ministry scrutiny. What they failed to realise was that Master Karkaroff was good friends with my father and, as a result, loyal to me. Now had the Malfoys exhausted official channels to receive guardianship, they would undoubtedly have failed for with Andromeda as the elder sister, she would have had a greater claim… but of course she's as oblivious as the Ministry…"

"…and would only be told of your existence if Narcissa had petitioned for you in court," finished Sirius, nodding in understanding. "But I don't understand, if you're not aligned with Voldemort, then why not try and contact Andromeda? Why insist on doing everything on your own?"

"It's the only way I know how," said Arcturus darkly. "Involving Andromeda would have subjected her to Lucius' reprisals, and besides, I don't think I could have withstood living with her Muggleborn husband."

"You're a tough nut to crack, you know that?" said Sirius with a frown. "You despise the Dark Lord, and yet you uphold all he stands for…"

Arcturus took offence at this.

"I most certainly do not!" he protested. "Tom Marvolo Riddle is nothing but a deluded, hypocritical half-blood out to fulfil a personal vendetta. He despises Muggles because they despised him, and abhors Muggleborns because he is ashamed of what he is. I, on the other hand, may believe that Muggles have no place in our world, but I do not condemn them to death! I look down upon Muggleborns only because they have been deprived of an upbringing that, as magical people, they should have experienced by right. I deplore the influence they then have over our society, condoning the adaptation of Muggle customs within wizarding circles as they attempt to reconcile the world they enter at age 11 with the world that their parents are confined to. The ways of the old are dying at the hands of this Muggle assimilation and I seek only to honour tradition, there is nothing wrong with that!"

"Everyone is entitled to their opinion," said Sirius lightly. "I for instance believe that Muggleborns have a lot of cultural diversity to offer our civilisation. A lot of my closest friends were, or are, Muggleborns and half-bloods."

"Well then, aren't you a diplomat," sneered Arcturus, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest, sulking. "Do you have any more questions for me, or shall I take my leave?"

"No!" said Sirius, leaning forward suddenly, as though to intercept a fleeing teenager. "I mean yes, I have more questions!" He wracked his mind. "So you've been alone for the past three summers… what have you been doing? No… wait… where have you been going to school? What do you like? Did you say that you did an internship last summer??"

Arcturus raised his eyebrows at the sudden rush of questions headed his way, before repositioning himself in the chair to address them with a more formal candour.  
"I have been enrolled in Durmstrang since my first year," he responded boorishly. "Though I would have assumed that much was obvious by my marked absence from Hogwarts. My internship last summer was with the Bulgarian Quidditch team, assisting them in the lead up to the World Cup. Their Seeker just graduated from my school this spring; he was assigned to be my mentor in my first year."

"But he's left now?" Sirius clarified, awed.

"Yes," Arcturus said with a nod. "At Durmstrang, fourth-years are assigned a first year to watch over until the commencement of their final year, upon which time the apprentice under their charge enters fourth year and the cycle repeats itself. I was fortunate to get along well with Viktor… things haven't been as fulfilling with my own charge."

"Why?"

"He is the son of my mother's cousin," said Arcturus, as though that would explain it all. "When he isn't exploiting my connection with Krum for his own gain and informing me of his coveted place as my grandparent's preferred heir and replacement grandson he is proving himself to be an utterly dim-witted and incompetent wizard."

"How are mentors chosen?" asked Sirius conversationally.

"The mentor chooses their apprentice," corrected Arcturus, "at least that's how it's supposed to be in theory – a Staff not unlike Hogwarts' Sorting Hat points the fourth year towards their allocated apprentice. Alas, there remains no recourse should you happen to disagree with the blasted thing's suggestion."

"What did the Staff tell you?" said Sirius, curious.

"That choosing my cousin would bring me closer to my grandparents," said Arcturus with a funny expression on his face.

"And has it?" asked Sirius, holding his breath.

"In a way," said Arcturus with a humourless smile. "They wrote me to insist that I not harm the boy… threatened to raze my parents' home to the ground if I didn't do best by the conceited little brat." He grinned. "I wrote them back encouraging them to try it… promised retribution if they dared to step foot in my parent's home."

There was a brief silence.

"With no guardian to keep you here, may I ask why you returned to Grimmauld Place at all when I presume you could have gone to the home of your parents?" asked Sirius.

"I did not consider it safe," said Arcturus quietly. "My headmaster accompanied me there for the first time during the Christmas break in my first year. It was then that I found Father's letters to you; that last one was still lying open on his desk, never sent. Mother had gone into labour before he could seal it and Father left with me, to bring me here, when my mother died shortly thereafter. I have not been back since."

"You seem to know a lot about it," said Sirius sadly.

"My father placed his memories of the event in Grandfather's Pensieve upon our arrival at the house," Arcturus explained. "My grandparents implored for Father to stay, but… but he left, never to return. As I am certain you recall, Grandfather fell victim to Voldemort's reprisals not long after, when he had sought audience with Dark Lord, demanding news of his son's fate."  
He averted his gaze in favour of staring sightlessly out the window.  
"Whilst under my grandmother's care I came to hate that Pensieve and all it represented."

"She… she showed you?" said Sirius, wide-eyed.

Arcturus nodded, a haunted look on his face.  
"I now remember the circumstances of my birth, and my mother's subsequent murder, as clearly as though they were my own memories. That is why I do not need anyone to tell me how much I resemble my father…"

"Can I see it?" blurted Sirius, jumping forward in his seat, his eyes flitting towards the sealed cabinet where he knew his father's Pensieve to reside.

"No," said Arcturus without hesitation. "You are not ready for the secrets it contains… or should I say, I am not prepared to reveal them to you."

"I don't understand… secrets?" said Sirius, frowning.

"The matter of my mother's death and my spending the first eleven years of my life within the protective wards of this house have not been without purpose," said Arcturus. "Much like how I avoid the Malfoys for reasons other than personal distaste."

"But… if it's you Voldemort wants, then Karkaroff could have handed you over just as easily as the likes of Lucius Malfoy."

Arcturus favoured his uncle with a sidelong look.  
"Even Death Eaters can have allegiances to people other than the Dark Lord. Igor has been honouring an Unbreakable Vow, one that he made quite willingly, to my father before his death; he poses no threat to me."

"But he's abandoned you! Gone into hiding! How can that be honouring a Vow?" said Sirius, incredulous.

"He did not 'abandon' me, I assure you," said Arcturus with a mirthless laugh. "I am the one who encouraged him to go into hiding, and if you really must know, he encouraged me to accompany him."

"Why didn't you?"

"I told you before, I work alone," said Arcturus simply. "The man may have fashioned himself as my godfather, but he was never formally acknowledged as such. He has taught me well… too well, it seems, for it remains evident that I would be committing suicide to be seen aligning myself with a defected Death Eater at this time and age."

"So you abandoned him?" said Sirius, eyes narrowing.

"We parted company," corrected Arcturus. "In the end, he accepted my terms. He trusts my ability to take care of myself and so no longer feels an onus of responsibility. There exists no bad blood between us; if he had requested my help, I would have given it… but it would be unlike him to do so. We work alone."

"So, do you know where he is?" asked Sirius curiously.

Arcturus sent him an appraising look, his eyes full of knowing.  
"I will say no more of this matter," he said decisively, rising from his chair and stretching languidly, his back to his uncle. Turning to face the man, he shook his head at the unasked question in the man's eyes. "The knowledge I possess you will only be inclined to divulge to members of your Order, and I have reason not to trust your people. After I leave Pater Phin shall oblige you with all you need to know, nothing more."

"But where will you go?" said Sirius with concern.

"If I told you that it would defeat the purpose of my leaving," said Arcturus, heading towards the door. Gesturing towards the exit, he inclined his head. "We have a visitor."

At that, the wards around the room tingled to permit the unidentified wizard entrance, the door swinging open to reveal him.  
"Albus Dumbledore," stated Arcturus formally, bowing slightly in greeting.

"Arcturus Black," Dumbledore returned the gesture, locking eyes with Sirius as he bowed. "I have heard much about you."

"You travelled to Durmstrang," Arcturus narrowed his eyes. It was not a question. "How resourceful of you."

"Yes, well the acquaintances I could find were quite unwilling to divulge judgements of your character," admitted the old man. "What knowledge I found I drew directly from your academic record… when I informed the Deputy of your intentions to transfer he had no choice but to release the information to me."

"Do not presume to know my intentions, old man!" hissed Arcturus, levelling his wand at the wizard in a flash. "I answer to no one."

"I think you will find, young man, that you do indeed answer to your uncle," said Dumbledore congenially, as though completely oblivious to the wand pointed at him. "Fugitive though he may be, he still retains certain powers of attorney. I daresay no one has thought to have them revoked, much like how they had failed to do so in regards to young Harry."

"I don't care," said Arcturus petulantly, glaring between the two men accusingly. His protestations, however, were promptly cut off by a piercing scream upstairs, followed by yelling and a stampede of rushing feet. Sirius recognised the look that came over the boy's face as one his brother habitually wore whenever the younger Black had successfully landed his elder brother into trouble. In fact, if Sirius were to study himself closely after having just executed a well-thought-out plot with his fellow boyhood Marauder, James Potter, he'd likely have found a similar expression on his own features.

"What did you do?" said Sirius simply.

"It is not a question of what _I_ did, but rather what a certain person's curiosity led _them_ to do," said Arcturus in response. "_I_ merely Charmed my rucksack against intrusion. It seems that the spell did hold over the course of years and has been activated…" he shook his head, "alas there is no way for me to predict its results."

Thinking of the nasty hexes and charms Sirius had Spelled upon items in the house upon his departure, keen to wage war against those left living in the house, even in his absence, he frowned.

"Those spells become more potent with time," said Sirius, aghast. "You should have warned us…"

"I owed no such explanation!" said Arcturus indignantly. "Common courtesy ought to have quelled their curiosity. I will not be held accountable for their actions; they were positively out of line, attempting to rifle through my belongings!"

"Whatever the circumstances, let us adjourn to the hall and see if we might be able to rectify the damage, hmm?" Dumbledore suggested, leaving no room for argument.

What greeted them in the hallway was an unprecedented sight. Harry, chastened and apologetic for being caught out attempting to invade the privacy of his godfather's nephew, flushed awkwardly and hid behind his friend. Ron, in turn, had evidently borne the brunt of the curses imbued in the charmed canvas, for he was utterly unrecognisable. Warts covered almost every inch of exposed skin, his nose had swollen to epically large proportions, and his hands and feet had become mangled with inoperable claws and burns.

The failed efforts of the distraught teenager to communicate further showed that he possessed a tied tongue, and as though prompted by his friend's unintelligible grunts, Harry informed them that Ron's trunk had been upended, its contents strewn across the room for all to see the moment the rucksack had been interfered with.

Doing his best to placate the wide-eyed teenagers, Dumbledore brandished his authoritative power, promising to reverse the effects of the hexes. Much to his surprise, as well as everyone else's, the unofficial leader of the light was unable to have much effect on the boy's punishing affliction. All eyes then turned to Arcturus.  
"Don't look at me," he said, bored. "I spelled my rucksack years ago… I can barely remember the details. Perhaps you should consult a curse-breaker, you have one in the family if I'm not mistaken?"

The revelation that Bill Weasley was on assignment in Egypt and was several days away from being contactable did not faze the blue-eyed boy. Picking at his nails agitatedly, he maintained the need for discipline amongst the unruly guests of his family's house and suggested that the prying teen be made to bear the effects of his curiosity as punishment. Not even Molly Weasley spotting the state of her youngest son and reacting to Arcturus' involvement in it could make the boy flinch.  
"Please," he rolled his eyes. "I lived with the woman whose image graces the wall of the entrance hall, you will have to do better than that, woman!" turning to his uncle, he shook his head. "_This_ is the Molly you warned me of? I am disappointed."

"Undo this damage, at once!" Molly commanded in her most authoritative voice. Even the Weasley twins, who had been on the receiving end of their mother's ire more often than not, flinched at the woman's deathly tone. Arcturus, on the other hand, did not bat an eye. Pulling his wand from his sleeve, he summoned said rucksack lazily and made his way down the stairs, no one willing to get in his way whilst he was carrying the bag that had inflicted such heinous curses onto Ron.

"Arcturus Phineas Black!" a piercing shriek halted the short teenager in his tracks the moment he had reached the bottom of the stairs. "You were going to pass through this house without greeting your grandmother?"

Arcturus turned and faced the portrait fearlessly.  
"My grandmother is dead," said Arcturus coolly. "You're nothing but oil on canvas!"

"You do not feel the same about your precious 'Pater Phin'!" the portrait pointed out snidely. "I may be reduced to oil on canvas, but I have my eyes and ears on this house, mark my words!"

"Don't tempt me," muttered Arcturus, inwardly wondering what would happen if he were to paint the image's lips shut. Though it remained true that he regarded the image of Phineas Nigellus with much the same respect he would bestow upon the man had he lived in this lifetime, he could not bring himself to become as endeared to his grandmother's portrait. All the animated image seemed to do was nag and tell him what to do; traits that the woman did possess whilst she was living, fair enough, but a pale imitation nevertheless. In many ways, Arcturus grieved for his grandmother, missing all that the portrait could not recreate. Over time, he had come to resent the constant reminder the ever-interfering painting had become throughout his childhood.

"Do not tell me you are leaving this house!" the screeching voice continued.

"Fine, I won't _tell_ you!" said Arcturus, heading for the door.

Sirius, who had followed his nephew down the stairs, had stood in shock as he watched the boy and picture interact. The relationship between his mother and her grandson appeared to be an eclectic combination of the contrasting connections she'd forged with her respective sons. Arcturus had a rebellious streak like his own, that much he had already seen, and yet he was as pigeon-minded as Regulus when it came to political beliefs. At the same time, however, Arcturus was more resourceful and logical than either Black brother before him; cool and calculative, wholly self-sufficient, and unlikely to prescribe himself to a position of subservience – on either side. He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of his mother's portrait addressing him directly.

"Sirius! If you ever loved your brother at all, you will not let his boy leave!" the portrait all but outright pleaded with the shocked Animagus. Upon hearing the words of his grandmother's portrait, Arcturus turned to look at Sirius in question.

His decision not one to require much thought, Sirius scrambled to intercept the fleeing teenager.  
"Don't go," he said. "You don't have to change school or talk to anybody or anything, just stay. Please?"

"Why?" Arcturus said, not moving away from the door. "Attempting to make up for lost time will not redeem you in the eyes of my father. You're nearly sixteen years too late for that."

Sirius shook his head sadly.  
"Yes, I lost my chance with Regulus," he admitted, swallowing heavily. "I don't want to lose it with you."


	3. Settling In?

**Disclaimer: **If it were mine, the cost of my up-coming holiday would be but a drop in the ocean and I would not have to neglect my writing in favour of slaving myself to the 9 to 5 grind. Is it July yet?!?!?!?!?!!? Where's a Time Turner when you need one?!?!?! 

**Updated: **Friday 19 January 2007 (yes, that is a pig in the sky, I updated on time...)  
**Edited: **Wednesday 02 January 2008

**Chapter 03: Settling In**

With all the rooms of the house billeted to an assortment of Order members and their families, Arcturus was stuck with his unfortunate pair of roommates. Ron Weasley, who had yet to recover from the security-charms the youngest Black had deployed upon his belongings, was laid up in a room designated as a field infirmary. Harry Potter, meanwhile, had become wary in light of his friend's mishap and was demonstrably keeping his distance.

The Weasley twins, on the other hand, were not as easily fazed.

"So what'd you use?" they asked, letting themselves into the bedroom and plonking themselves down on the end of their youngest brother's bed. "That was bloody impressive, fixing it so that Dumbledore could not even remove them!"

"Do you make a habit of entering a room uninvited and making yourselves at home?" asked Arcturus, looking up from where he was restocking the equipment in his study desk. The room, previously thought to be modestly appointed and well proportioned was now cluttered and crowded with the furniture needs of three growing teenagers. He scowled at the twins who had interrupted his fleeting audience with peace and quiet.

Fred and George Weasley looked at each other for confirmation before sending identical smirks towards Arcturus.  
"Yep," they responded.

"I see," said Arcturus, picking up his wand and twirling it around his fingers. "I will have to do _something _about that door, then."

Catching the meaning of the illusive boy's words, the twins held up their hands and shook their heads.  
"Whoa, we aren't here to make enemies!" said George.

"On the contrary, my friend, we have a proposition for you…" said Fred.

Slightly dizzy by the banter between the two identical brothers, Arcturus was undeniably curious.  
"What do you propose?" he said.

"Well, we figure you're new here…" said Fred. "Well not new _here_, but new amongst us raving loons-"

"-that's right, and we are guessing that you would value some inside information on who's who and what's what… are we right?"

"Perhaps," said Arcturus levelly, abandoning his desk in favour of leaning against it and crossing his arms across his chest guardedly. "What do you ask for in exchange?"

"Oh, nothing," said Fred, shaking his head. "Consider it a gesture of welcome…"

"…but if you want to tell us how you did that to our brother, we promise not to tell anyone!" added George quickly. "You see, we fashion ourselves as pranksters, and are always on the look out for inspiration-"

"Well I am afraid I cannot help you, then," said Arcturus firmly, unwilling to disclose the Dark nature of some of the spells he had used. It was entirely possible that the twins had been sent to recover an antidote for their brother's condition. "The results were, as I said, unpredicted."

"Are they permanent, then?" Fred asked with baited breath.

"No, they ought to wear off before the day is out, that much I am certain of," said Arcturus with a smug expression; he'd not revealed as much to the concerned adults earlier. "In the interests of retribution, I expect that you will not share that little piece of information with your kin."

"Of course not," said George. "It's rewarding to see him suffer when we know it's not for real."

Fred nodded his assent.  
"Yeah, serves him right for nosing about your stuff."

Grimacing slightly at the twins as they made no move to leave, he pushed off from the desk he was leant against and busied himself with inspecting the contents of his wardrobe.  
"Is there a point to this visit, or have you come to appraise me in some way?"

The twins looked at each other in confusion before leaping up and saying, in unison.  
"Mum said to say breakfast's ready."

Sniffing slightly, Arcturus could detect the aroma of foodstuffs.  
"Well be sure to pass on my apologies, then," he said bluntly, ushering them towards the door. "I have already eaten for the day."

The door had closed on the twins' faces before they had means to react to the boy's rejection, neither Weasley game enough to try the door again lest its owner had spelled it with a few unbecoming Hexes. Predictably, Sirius sought his nephew out the instance the twins returned alone, and the elder Black harboured no misgivings about charging directly into the room, uninvited.  
"What do you mean you've already eaten?" said Sirius, face flush with a mix of concern and exertion, the fugitive having run all the way up several flights of stairs. "You've been out in the square for well over what, a month? You're sure to be emaciated – you have to eat!"

"I had means," Arcturus admitted. "Besides which, I'm not hungry. I'll be quite capable of fending for myself when I am – I always have."

Sirius opened his mouth to object – the kitchen being the main thoroughfare of the Order when not scheduled for meals – but then he realised that the boy before him was likely accustomed to coming and going from the kitchen whenever it suited him.  
"Well, it's just, you see…" he stumbled over his words, seeking the boy's understanding, but not wanting to be seen as imposing restrictions upon the teenager. "Uh, the kitchen has the most secure access, and…"

"…and your Order people come and go freely?" finished Arcturus, his arms crossing over his chest defiantly. "I do not see how that affects when I choose to eat."

"Well you're not a member, and if you are present in the kitchen and an impromptu meeting gets underway…" said Sirius, sweat beading at his brow.

"I might hear sensitive information?" Arcturus raised a brow. "So?"

"Well it's just Order policy not to disclose Order business in front of non-members…"

"So, are you asking me to become a member?" asked Arcturus, teasingly.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but then realised that his nephew was not being serious.  
"Damn it, Arcturus, you're not making this easy for me, are you?"

Arcturus rocked back on his heels and smirked.  
"If you want me to keep out of certain rooms in this house during specific times of the day, you need only ask," he offered.

Sirius was immediately suspicious – it couldn't be that easy.  
"Yeah, but you wouldn't stay out if I did ask," said Sirius knowingly.

"Of course not," admitted Arcturus.

"Then why are we having this conversation?" frowned Sirius.

"I don't know," said Arcturus, shrugging. "You started it."

Giving up, Sirius muttered something about _his_ breakfast getting cold; resolving to deal with the Order's reaction to the teenager when their paths first crossed, and taking his leave. Watching his uncle slink down the hall dejectedly, Arcturus' eyes glinted with the anticipation of imminent challenge.

* * *

The insistence, on Arcturus' part, to remain in the kitchen whilst Dumbledore sought to get the Order meeting underway was met with resistance. Adult and child alike protested against the boy's blatant disregard for the established rules of the meeting, all the other teenagers kicking up quite the fuss when it became apparent that one of their peers – in age at least – was remaining behind. Dumbfounded statements declaring his status as a non-member rippled through the growing crowd of dissenting wizards, and yet all Arcturus did was sit and pick at his plate.  
"By all means, don't make me stop you," he said flippantly, ingesting his late breakfast with lazy mouthfuls, his eyes far too busy skittering over the headlines of the day in that morning's _Daily Prophet_. "I'm far too preoccupied reading the paper to notice…" he shot Sirius a pointed look. "It has been _so long_ since I last had the opportunity to relax and read the paper at the breakfast table. I think I might indulge and make an attempt at the crossword… would someone mind passing me a quill?"

The suggestion that Arcturus take his paper upstairs and do the crossword in the comfort of the parlour or one of the more informal reception rooms was met on deaf ears.  
"No, I am quite settled here, thank you," he said politely, the look on his face being anything but polite. "I do not wish to find myself the object of curiosity amongst a hood of undisciplined children."

"Well, I think you find that the only alternative is to find yourself being poked and prodded by a group of grown wizards, then," said a snarling wizard with a magical eye. "I've got my eye on you, sonny boy!"

Arcturus set down his spoon and levelled his eyes at the former Auror without expression.  
"You must be Alastor Moody," he said, inclining his head. "Forgive me the intrusion, but on behalf of my Durmstrang brethren, I don't suppose you could enlighten me as to whether or not that eye makes you dizzy?"

Alastor Moody regarded the unflinching boy with a look of fascination. He knew that many people undoubtedly wondered that very thing, but to date no one had dared to ask. Noticing, then, how the child's question had drawn the attention of just about every member of the Order, he couldn't help but laugh.  
"Aye! Would you care to find out, young Mr Black?" he responded, trying his best to sound threatening, but failing in his humour. "Do you realise no one had asked that question to my face?"

"You must surround yourself with cowards, then," said the teen, with hardly a blink as the meaning of his words hit home. Returning his attention to his brunch, he was all but completely oblivious to the defensive uproar that then broke out.

Sitting across from his nephew, Sirius shook his head; he recognised the signs all too well.  
"Let up, will you?" he deplored upon his colleagues. "Can't you see he's trying to bait you?"

"He's doing a fine good job of it too," said Moody, wiping away a tear of mirth, still coming down from his reaction to the boy's audacity. "I can detect no mark on his arm – I say we get on with the bloody meeting. If the boy knows what's good for him, he'll keep his trap shut!"

"But the other children-" Molly Weasley protested. "Are you saying this boy can be trusted over my own sons?"

"I am bound by blood to not reveal the secrets of this house," said Arcturus with a shrug. "Discretion can be assured by more than just trust."

"That's Dark magic you're alluding to, if I'm not mistaken," said Dumbledore with a frown, the old man entering during the tail end of their argument and seeking out Sirius' eyes for confirmation about this latest revelation. The younger wizard nodded, and Dumbledore made his decision. "Very well, then, I see no reason why young Mr Black can not be a witness to these proceedings, seeing as he has not objected to our residency here…" at the rising voice of dissent that greeted him, the headmaster held up his hands. "Alas, I see we are missing some members..."

"Full moon last night, eh?" said a shifty-looking wizard in the corner, his eyes darting towards Sirius in question.

Arcturus looked up in masked curiosity, his eyes narrowing at his uncle as the man nodded tersely. He dare not admit it, but it surprised him that an Order of wizards on the side of all that was light and innocent could be associated with werewolves... and he was all but certain that it was a werewolf they were short. His meal cooling, and his interest in the Order's proceedings waning the longer he bore witness to their disorganisation, Arcturus banished the contents of his plate and stood.  
"If you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave," he said, pushing back his chair and expertly hiding the wince that came with the movement. Ever since he'd entered the safety of his grandparents' home, the adrenalin that had kept him on edge and blocked out the toll a month living on the streets was having on his body had begun to seep from his system and he began to feel weary.

Recognising the fatigue on his nephew's face - both because he'd seen it mirrored on his stubborn brother's face so often and could relate to what it felt like living on the run - Sirius stood hastily.  
"Do you want me to have a word to the kids, get them to keep out of your hair while you rest up-" he asked, only to abruptly cut off by the boy.

"No," he said rudely, bristling slightly at his uncle's presumptuousness. Eying their attentive audience, however, he back peddled. "No _thank you_," he repeated in a nicer tone, turning and heading toward a small side-room sandwiched between the boiler room and the pantry, where a small Potions store was maintained.

Upon seeing the young man enter what had steadily become Severus Snape's domain, a few Order members opened their mouths as though to protest, but a look from Sirius kept them mum. No sooner had the abrasive fifth year disappeared behind the narrow door did said Potions Master breeze in through the kitchen door, his robes billowing behind him.  
"My apologies, Headmaster," said Severus Snape, his arms full of potions supplies. "There was a difference of opinion at the Apothecary."

Albus Dumbledore had barely nodded his assent when the dark Slytherin had crossed the room, headed for the room where he could deposit his supplies. At once, all eyes flew to Sirius, who'd they expected to inform Snape of the boy in the next room. Opening his mouth to intervene as the wiry spy brushed past him roughly, Sirius thought better of it as he imagined what his nephew would do to the unexpected visitor.  
"Why didn't you say anything?" said a witch closest to Sirius.

"Because this will be much more fun," said Sirius with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

As if on cue, a loud crash sounded from the small makeshift lab, the gap under the door flaring with the telltale light of wandplay.  
"YOU!" the younger of the two wizards bellowed from within, his voice resonating throughout the kitchen.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it was to acquire those ingredients?" an enraged adult's voice countered.

Sirius had his hand on the doorknob before Snape could so much as finish his sentence. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that welcomed him behind the door. Standing closest to him, wand drawn, was the irate Potions Master, vials of destroyed potions and ingredients lying broken at his feet, an ominous hiss of murky mist indicative of an imminent explosion. Across from them, leaning against the counter that ran along the far wall, stood Arcturus, the boy's gait stooped by the pipes that ran overhead. He had his top off and looked to have been applying a topical solution to a series of wounds on his torso when he'd been interrupted. Laying eyes on the criss-cross of curse marks and abrasions, some old, most new, Sirius momentarily forgot about the presence of his lifelong nemesis and swore under his breath. Seeing the concern in his uncle's eyes, Arcturus tightened his hold on his wand and scowled.  
"Oh please, don't pretend to care," he sneered at Sirius, his eyes not leaving the man alongside that he saw as a threat.

"What is the meaning of this, Black? The headmaster expressly told you that this room should have restricted access-" said Snape as he glared at Sirius and gestured at Arcturus with disdain.

"You may want to define which Black you are referring to," said Sirius with a leer. "My nephew here has more right than either of us to be in here." Turning to his kin, he gaped. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Your _nephew_?"

If it were possible, the pallor of Snape's skin paled even further.

Ignoring Snape's shocked realisation, Arcturus addressed his uncle's question.  
"I told you," he said boorishly. "Someone had to keep Malfoy's men distracted - your bloody Order members don't know the meaning of subterfuge."

"You've been fighting Death Eaters?" said Sirius, both aghast at the idea of a not-quite 16-year-old boy taking on Death Eaters and mortified at the realisation that such activities could happen so close to Headquarters with none of its members even aware of it.

"No points for stating the obvious," said Arcturus testily, idly rubbing some excess ointment into a badly healing gash in his side, a small crystal around his neck catching the light with the movement. Levelling his eyes - and his wand - at the Potions Master, his voice shook. "Speaking of Death Eaters; what the hell is _he_ doing here?"

"Snape?" asked Sirius, casting said man a sidelong look.

"You do realise he is _one of them_!" said Arcturus. "You ought to be thankful that those Potions at your feet are too unstable for me to do what I so want to do..."

"I'd like to see you try," said Snape scornfully, emboldened by the arrival of Dumbledore behind him as he banished away the spoiled potions supplies, his eyes glinting in unspoken challenge.

"Enough," said Dumbledore warningly, his wand still in its hidden holster, but the intent clear in his eye. "Arcturus, I know not what Master Karkaroff has told you, but Severus here is loyal to me; he can be trusted."

"So you think," spat Arcturus, thrusting his wand forward at the man he glared at hatefully. "Count yourself lucky, Snape, that the knowledge I possess was only recently imparted."

"What knowledge?" asked Sirius, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"The knowledge of the part _he_ paid in my parents' deaths!" said Arcturus coldly, a small glint of triumph glistening in his cool blue eyes when he detected a trace of hesitation in the two Gryffindors' responses.

Sirius looked between his nephew and foe, an unsettling look of suspicion settling on his face; however it was Dumbledore who spoke first.  
"I assure you, child, that whatever Igor told you, he was misinformed;" said the headmaster coaxingly. "Severus Snape was already in my employ at the time of your parents' untimely passing..."

"What does that have to do with anything?" said Arcturus incredulously. "He's playing you for a fool! I've always known what he had to gain from my family's death... from _my_ death... but before I learned of his allegiances, I did not think it was possible..."

"What was possible?" said Sirius with bated breath.

"HIS INVOLVEMENT!" yelled Arcturus, spittle dotting his chin as he glared at the headmaster, cutting the old man off. "Don't you _dare_ try to suggest otherwise, old man!" He thrust his wand back at Severus, hate ablaze in his eyes. "It all makes sense now! I can't believe how _stupid_ I was not to realise it! YOU! You were the only one who could have given my mother that potion without raising her suspicions!"

Beginning to sense that there was more to this story than they had anticipated, Albus Dumbledore found that he had questions.  
"What potion? My dear boy, in light of Lord Voldemort's return I should think that you would not be underestimating his ability to infiltrate..."

"Shut UP!" screamed Arcturus, his raised tone long since having drawn more attention from out in the kitchen, the open doorway now crowded with spectators. "You know _nothing_. NOTHING! _His_ seal was on the damn potions bottle!"

"You foolish boy," Severus spoke lowly in his own defence. "So like your father... clearly you did not factor in your father's stupidity before throwing your unfounded accusations my way. Has it not occurred to you that your father was so arrogantly full of himself that he misdosed your mother all on his own?"

Seeing that Snape's explanation had, in the least, the old wizard fooled, Arcturus set his face in stone.  
"I did think that," he admitted with disdain. "But then that was before I realised that the potion had come from you, and the Dark Lord had wanted to see you restored with the birthrights of your mother's line. You may have pulled the wool over the eyes of the sentimental fool you cower behind, but I will not be swayed. Karkaroff told me everything there -"

"-and have you not considered that Karkaroff's lies are all part of a larger plot against you?" said Snape bitterly, realisation dawning on his features. "How very convenient that Karkaroff should play you against any who you may otherwise choose to turn to in his absence. He's playing you directly into Lucius Malfoy's hands, and let me assure you that man's intentions are not pure…"

"I _know_ that," spat Arcturus, lowering his wand long enough to reach for his shirt. "But Karkaroff doesn't need to _play_ me against anyone. Least of all _you_."

Sirius watched the interplay with a mix of confusion and dawning comprehension, words his brother had written in passing suddenly starting to make sense.  
"Wait, you're related?" he asked, mouth falling open in surprise.

"He's my mother cousin," confirmed Arcturus, his eyes narrowing in contempt.

"So... so that's what Regulus meant?" asked Sirius. In one of the later letters from his brother, the deceased wizard had boasted taking away Severus' birthright. As Arcturus then went on to explain with a heavy degree of smugness; as a half-blood, Severus Snape could only stand to inherit from his magical line by default - if there were not any pureblooded descendants of the direct line. With Arcturus' grandmother the sister of Severus' mother, the youngest Black represented the most direct pureblooded heir to the Prince legacy. The house his parents had made their own had once belonged to Severus' grandparents, having been passed to their youngest grandchild on the occasion of her pureblooded union with Regulus.

"You know," said Sirius narrowing his eyes suspiciously. By the sounds of it, his childhood nemesis had advance notice of Arcturus' existence, and yet never had the man hinted anything to anyone in the Order. "I'm inclined to think that the kid's onto something..."

"You _would_," sneered Snape, confident that the headmaster, at least, did not doubt his integrity.

Looking at the lack of concern on the Order leader's face, Arcturus made up his mind.  
"I'm not staying here," he said resolutely, pulling his robe back over his shoulders and brushing past the people in his way.

Following his nephew out into the kitchen and up the stairs beyond as he pushed through the throng of gawking Order members, Sirius cut the boy off in the front hall.  
"Wait..." he called after the boy pleadingly. "Listen... I'll take great pleasure in booting Snape out, believe me, you don't have to leave!"

"I don't have to stay!" said Arcturus coolly, spinning around on his heel and looking down at his uncle at the foot of the stairs.

"But... but... this is your _home_!" said Sirius lamely.

Arcturus looked up at the chandelier that had seen better days, taking in the room around them with disdain. He raised a brow at Sirius when the man said no more.  
"That's it?" he said snidely. "That's all you've got? People leave _home_ everyday. If I am not mistaken you were no older than I when you walked away from this place, so don't you _dare-_"

"Yes, but _I_ had a place to go!" said Sirius, ascending the stairs slowly when the boy started backing up towards the landing, bound for the room that still held his belongings. "Even this place is better than the streets... believe me, I know!"

"There you go again, _stating the obvious_," leered Arcturus, bored. "But if you _must_ know, I _do_ have a place to go. Several, in fact-"

"If that were true, you wouldn't have spent a month in the Square!" said Sirius.

"Maybe I _wanted_ to stay in the square!" said Arcturus, leaning towards his uncle, who by now was only a few steps below him. "Maybe I stayed in the square because I wanted to see what happened to the house before I moved on! Maybe I was waiting around to find a way _in_ so I could get my things _out_!"

Sirius snapped his mouth shut audibly, lost for a defence. Shaking his head in defeat, he reached out for his nephew's wrist, hauling the boy back as he made to turn and continue up the rest of the stairs.  
"At least..." he sighed, feeling like a failure. "At least tell me where you are going... I know, I know I don't deserve to ask anything of you; but what could it hurt?"

Arcturus considered his uncle's words for a moment before indulging the man's heartfelt plea.  
"I will be adjourning to my parents' home," he said quietly, a determined look in his eyes. "As has always been my plan since Karkaroff enlightened me as to the part Snape played in my mother's death."

Sirius paused a moment, his pale grey eyes reading the determination on the face of his brother's son before nodding once. Releasing the boy's wrist only to reaffirm his grip further up the teen's arm, Sirius closed the distance between them and began pulling him up to the landing. Ushering him into his childhood bedroom, absently thankful that its current tenants were off cleaning some room elsewhere in the house, Sirius closed the door behind them before speaking.  
"Look," he said, a sour look coming over his face as he contemplated what he was about to say. "I hate Snape, I really do… but I'm really not sure you should be taking the word of someone like Igor Karkaroff. Have you considered that it might all be a trap? I hate to remind you, kid, but from what you've told me…"

"Once bitten, twice scorned," said Arcturus clearly, shrugging his arm out of Sirius' grip. Glaring at the man indecisively – familiar defences bubbling to the surface – he backed away and leered. "While I am _touched_ by your apparent concern, I am moreover insulted by the implication that you do not trust my judgement."

"Trust your judgement?" spluttered Sirius, unwilling to admit that he did find the boy's unerring trust in his former headmaster a little unnerving. "Kid, I don't even _know_ you!"

"Precisely," said Arcturus victoriously, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "You know me no better than you can claim to know _someone like Igor Karkaroff_. Not only has he been my school master these past five years, but also my tutor, every summer before that for as long as I care to remember! I think I am in a better position to judge his motives, no?"

Filing away this latest piece of information for later reference, barely managing to suppress the shudder that accompanied the thought of a small child being tutored by a Death Eater, Sirius shifted his weight uncomfortably.  
"Still, it still might not be safe. Lucius or… or… someone might have anticipated that I'd reclaim Grimmauld and that you would in turn take residence in your parents' home. Hell, with the place standing empty so long, it could well be a Death Eater safe house for all we know…"

"What, like how you hijacked this house for the exclusive use of your precious little Order?" sneered Arcturus with distaste.

Narrowing his eyes, Sirius posed the question that had been bothering him since the boy had first mentioned it.  
"Just how do you know so much about the Order anyway?" he snapped, curiosity getting the better of him.

Arcturus' lip curled, and he looked at his uncle with smug superiority.  
"As I said earlier, your people aren't exactly discreet," he smirked. "Oh don't give me that look! You really can't have expected me to reveal my sources!" Upon seeing the blood leave the man's face, he relented. "Are you really that dense? If _I _couldn't even get into this house because of the Fidelius, what makes you think anyone else can?" he paused, an ugly expression crossing over his face. "But of course, some _imbecile_ let someone like _Snape_ in, so anything is possible… but need I remind you that I couldn't betray the secrets of this house even if I wanted to."

"I don't understand," said Sirius, running a hand through his hand in frustration. "If you don't want to turn the Order over to our enemies, why do you insist on leaving?"

"I don't belong here," said Arcturus coolly. "I will not bend to the whim of a man whose scope of power is grossly misstated. Nor will I reside with bumbling fools whose good intentions blind them to the damage they are inflicting upon their cause."

"So you're just going to head off and face whatever is out there, by yourself? Is that it?" snapped Sirius. "I don't know what they are teaching at Durmstrang, kid, but that's suicide!"

"I think I am in a better position to know what's out there than someone who has spent twelve of the past fourteen years in prison!" said Arcturus, hitting a nerve. "Furthermore, the schoolmasters at Durmstrang do not feel the need to closet their students on the basis of age."

"Oh, and students at Hogwarts are sheltered and naïve, are they?" said Sirius defensively.

"Of course," said Arcturus without hesitation. "Just look at yourself – still heeding to the call of an interfering, overbearing headmaster…"

Sirius snapped his mouth shut firmly, unwilling to admit the fragment of truth in the boy's cutting words.  
"Fine," he said, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "I don't know why I am even trying. You obviously made your mind up about me before we even met. If you want to be like every other bloody Black before you – myself included – and be so goddamn stubborn in your arrogance, then by all means, walk out that door and fight a war by yourself. I'm not going to beg you to stay."

"I wouldn't stay if you did," sneered Arcturus with renewed contempt. Deftly shrinking his rucksack and placing it into a pocket of his robes, he backed away from his uncle and pulled a Portkey from another pocket.

Realising all too late that the boy was about to make his escape, Sirius' eyes flew open wide, and he charged forward to stop the boy.  
"No, wait!" he called out, panic gripping him. It was too late. Arcturus was gone.


	4. Long Lost Acquaintances

**Disclaimer: **Do I have to keep writing these? Nothing has changed.

**A/N: **I know, I know, said the 26th. National holiday and all, you'd think I'd find the time... damn family barbecues and wine consumption! Also, my brother flew off for his 18month-long exchange program on Sunday, and so I felt compelled to spend some quality time with the brat. Won't even mention the hoo-ha at the airport (except to say I so wish I was on his flight!), or the birthday party (for one of my 13yo cousins) I had to go to...

**Updated: **Tuesday 30 January 2007  
**Edited: **Wednesday 02 January 2007... and you know what, said brat of a brother spent six months in the same continent as me before flying home for Christmas, and do you think he told me any of the times he was in London? Been almost a year since I've seen him now... brat...

**Chapter 04: Long Lost Acquaintances**

A week had passed, and no one was any the wiser as to the state of Sirius' strange nephew. The Portkey had been, unsurprisingly, impossible to trace, and Sirius did not have a clue where his brother's matrimonial home was located.  
"C'mon, Snape," he growled at the uncooperative wizard, feeling awkward enough about needing to ask something of the man. "Surely you must know where your mother grew up!"

Severus snarled at the man in contempt. He did not want to reveal his mother's family secret… admit the shame she had cast over her family when she had fallen pregnant out of wedlock and subsequently eloped with his Muggle father. For her indiscretions, Eileen Prince had been cut off from her parents and younger sister, her half-blood son destined never to set foot in the proudly pureblood estate. Instead, he and his mother had spent their lives in a cramped mill worker's two-up in grotty Spinner's End. Tobias Snape, his father, had been a proud man – a hard worker – and earned a modest keep; but it was never enough for the wife who'd grown up with old money and always wanted better for her son.

"Snape!" Black's annoying whine shook Severus out of his reverie. "Look, I get that you haven't been there, right, but surely you'd know an address?"

Freezing his mask in place, Severus inwardly questioned if an earlier expression might have given as much away.  
'_No_,' he reassured himself. '_Black's fool brother likely heard it from my cousin – his wife - and passed it on.'_

"What makes you think I'd be forthcoming?" Severus sneered at his childhood nemesis; lips curling in distaste at the thought of the newest Black heir running amok throughout the halls of the house he knew only by description. "As if one Black parading its halls isn't enough!"

A third voice in the room spoke up, letting its presence be known.  
"Come along, Sirius," said Remus Lupin, slipping into the all-too-familiar role of mediator and adjudicator, having just walked into the conversation and sensing immediately the need to intervene. "Not every family was as paranoid as your forbears; perhaps there is a mention in a public registry somewhere…"

Regarding his foe with a cool expression, as though put out at the idea of actually having to research an answer when an easier route had just been denied him, Sirius considered his friend's words for a moment and then nodded once, curtly.  
"Yeah, you're probably right, Moony," said Sirius, his eyes not leaving Snape's. He had considered throwing in a jab about the stupidity of the Prince line lending to such a conclusion, but thought better of it. Snape was, well, more _Snape_ than he could ever envision a _Prince_ being, and even Sirius could admit that it wasn't _Snape's_ fault that his cousin had been blithe enough to fall for someone like Regulus, and his own mother, a Muggle with a name like '_Snape'_. And that was saying nothing of the man's nose – which he clearly got from the Snape side.

Sirius snickered, and turned away from the dark-eyed man, lest the Potions freak try to Legilimise him. He turned to his friend.  
"Though, Remus, that nephew of mine seems mighty paranoid… he might have anticipated we'd look for official records-"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, the estate is in Kent!" snapped Snape with a scowl. While it was true that he did not wish to be particularly helpful to the man who lived to vex him, he'd come to realise that once Dumbledore had caught wind of the pathetic Gryffindor's latest song and dance, he would have had the full weight of the Order bearing down upon him, needling him for information. No, it was better to divest the details on his own terms. Scowling at the two men once more as they turned and blinked at him in surprise, Severus spun on his heels and stormed out of the room, his robes billowing dangerously behind him.

"_Where_ in Kent?" the dog Animagus whined after the dark-haired wizard was out of earshot. He mumbled. "Damn Snape… that wasn't helpful at all… Kent may as well be the name of the bloody haystack…"

"C'mon Padfoot, it's a start," said Remus jovially, quick to remind the man of the harrowing alternative of searching each county at a time.

* * *

"That's the second vampire attack in the region this week!" said Mad-Eye Moody, slamming his fist down on the kitchen table; another Order meeting well underway. "Is there an official word on whether they've switched sides or not? Snape, what have you heard?"

"They're not working for the Dark Lord," said Severus boorishly. "His efforts to get them onside have all been for naught. I believe he's as perplexed about this latest spate of events as we."

"What of the rumour that the attacks are in collusion with the werewolves?" said Bill Weasley, looking up from his status report with a frown.

"Still rumours at this stage," said Kingsley Shacklebolt from his chair across the table, a sickened look on his face as he held up a magical photograph from the latest crime scene and inspected it closely. "As I've no doubt you've all seen, the bodies are far too mutilated to accurately deduce much of anything. The absence of blood, of course, points to vampires, but the damage to the victims is more consistent with a werewolf attack, hence the rumours."

Taking a breath, Remus Lupin leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped out on the table in front of him.  
"I have to agree with Kingsley," he said, volunteering his opinion, knowing that most were too polite to openly ask the question of him. "It looks like the work of a werewolf to me… and the timing is right…" he frowned. "But if werewolves are involved in these latest attacks, I can tell you that they're not from the Isles. Those who are not already on side, or in seclusion, are firmly under the thumb of Fenrir Greyback, and if this were his handiwork, they wouldn't just be rumours. He'd want everyone to know about it."

"Werewolves from the Continent, then?" said Moody astutely, the magical eye in his head spinning around as though imitating the whirring thoughts within. "So, by implication, the vampires too…"

"-Though that would be a likely conclusion, Alastor, since that's where the largest covens of vampires reside," an elder Order member – one of the few who had returned after his successful stint in the first war – pointed out.

'_Congratulations on stating the obvious!'_ Arcturus' voice rang through Sirius' head as clearly as it would if the boy were in the very room. Suddenly sitting up much straighter, Sirius locked eyes with the as-yet-unspoken leader and shook his head in dismay.

"You have something you would like to add, Sirius?" prompted Dumbledore, accurately reading into the man's stricken look.

"The grounds of Durmstrang provide refuge to whole covens of Dark creatures," he said flatly, eyes downcast.

"Yes, but not even Karkaroff would provide asylum to anything likely to harm his students," said Deladus Diggle dismissively. "In all likelihood, they're simply isolated attacks that have been blown out of proportion…"

"Isolated, perhaps, but in no means random," said another wizard, drawing light to the undeniable similarities linking the people targeted.

That low-profile Dark Lord supporters, prospective and proven alike, had been the focus of the vicious attacks, was slightly disarming to the Order. The initial suspicion that Voldemort was utilising a small band of Dark creatures to meter consequences amongst his minions recently dispelled, there now remained the question of who motivated the notoriously neutral creatures into action. If a rebel group of vampires were at fault, and the majority of covens were against the offensive, then it could cause the wizarding world to spiral into chaos. For in the event that Voldemort moved into the defensive, attacking the species that took the lives of his followers, then the vampires, in turn, would lash out at the wizarding world in general, as though to re-affirm to all involved that they would not choose sides.

"Has anyone been able to contact the Vampire Ambassador?" said Albus Dumbledore wearily.

"No firm contact yet," said a portly witch from the end of the table. Upon seeing eyes on her, she straightened up in her chair and fidgeted her hands from where they rested on the table – as though she had wanted to adjust the clip in her hair, but hesitated. "The unofficial word is that the Vampire Counsel refuse to comment on the rising situation. There is unconfirmed speculation that the covens are of the consensus that their brethren have been unjustly framed in these crimes by an opposing werewolf pack. I will push for an official statement."

Remus made a sort of strangled noise, something between a cough and a sneeze. All eyes turned to him.  
"I wouldn't put it past Greyback," he muttered, rethinking his earlier affirmation. He felt eyes on him and elaborated. "Greyback loves bloodshed. I would be unsurprised if he is doing this to play us all against each other, engineering more battles… more opportunities to kill."

A collective shudder went through the group. Recovering quickly, the headmaster issued a course of action, delegating the respective tasks, and moved on to the next item on the agenda. On his right hand side, however, one wizard still looked troubled.  
"Sirius?" said Dumbledore, his omniscience not blind to the man's thoughtful expression. "Are you ready to move on, my boy?"

Sirius shook his head, clearing his thoughts.  
"I'm sorry, Professor," he said automatically, mind elsewhere. "Distracted, is all…"

Sensing that there was something the Order's unassuming host was hiding, Dumbledore inclined his head in understanding and moved the meeting along. Beside the dark-haired wizard, however, the other present Marauder knew better.  
"It's Arcturus, isn't it?" Remus Lupin nudged his friend and cast a light privacy charm around them – something that was not unusual amongst Order members who wished to discuss individual assignments during such a meeting. "You're worried… that he might be involved. That's why you mentioned the sanctuary at Durmstrang-"

Sirius nodded imperceptibly, running a weary hand across his brow. It seemed almost a crime to implicate the precious few vampires and werewolves that were selectively sheltered by the eastern European school. Far from instigating an outreach program, the Durmstrang administrators did nothing for Dark creatures that they could not collect upon. Dark creatures loyal to the school made worthy guards, after all, and the unique insight they could offer the students shaped for an enviable curriculum. That vampires, werewolves and assorted other Dark creatures made up the Durmstrang alumni typified it as a 'Dark' school; when in fact the students' families were not any more inclined towards serving the Dark Lord than any other school community. Far from popular belief, half-bloods and Muggleborns alike were not excluded from enrollment, and they were alternately welcomed and resented in much the same way as they were at Hogwarts. It was simply a sad turn of events that this particular school's open view towards Dark creatures happened to prompt many of the prospective parents within the Muggleborn or half-blood category to voluntarily enroll their children elsewhere.

Remus frowned at his friend. He had yet to meet the man's illusive nephew, but he'd heard enough.  
"You don't really think he would…" said Remus, his voice trailing off. "I mean, I thought you said he was a good kid… deep down…"

"I still think that," said Sirius at once. Resting his elbows on the table, he rested his head in his hands, tilting his neck to the side to peer up at his friend. "But whoever they are, they are only targeting Death Eaters… and Arcturus _hates_ them with a passion…"

"And you think that because he grew up with the likes of your mother and aunt, he'd think nothing of forming his own army and killing them?" said Remus quietly, hitting the Quaffle on the head.

Sirius nodded slowly, a pained expression on his face.  
"Kid can't know any better," he said softly. He let go of his head and shook it hard. "Not that I can complain about there being nine less Death Eaters in this world, but… but I don't think _anyone_ deserves to go like they did… and if Arcturus could commission such an act, stand by and watch it happen… that kind of hate is going to eat him alive… especially if he's never known love… which, knowing my mother and that wench Lucretia…"

"Oh I wouldn't sell him so short, Sirius," said Remus, though he was not convinced. "You turned out all right…"

"Yes, but I had my friends to steer me right," admitted Sirius, shuddering at the memory of what his childhood was like before Hogwarts, before the Marauders.

'_At least I had Regulus'_ he admitted to himself, another stab of guilt tearing through him as he thought of how he'd allowed their respective political beliefs to tear them apart, resulting in him letting his brother – and the man's son – down when they needed him most.

"I wouldn't worry so much," said Remus finally, leaning back slightly to return his attention to the meeting that was still going on around them. "Firstly, we don't even know if the boy had anything to do with any of this, and secondly, you can't be sure he grew up without love. Sharing the same name as your grandfather may have won him some favour, for one. Not to mention how Phineas Nigellus can't stop singing his praises, now that the secret is out, and I am certain that the camaraderie amongst the students of Durmstrang is not that much different than Hogwarts. Now come on, we're missing out on the meeting."

"Oi," hissed Sirius, tugging at his friends' sleeve and pulling the man close again. "How is it that you always know what to say?"

Remus curled his lips into a small smile and gave his friend a sidelong look.  
"Practice," he said simply. "Years, and years, of _practice_."

* * *

The lithe teen dodged the curse deftly, readying his wand to send a silent counter towards his attacker. They had been fighting like this for almost half-an-hour, and neither side were showing any signs of letting down. Two had fallen to the other side, but Arcturus had not lost a man yet. But then Arcturus remained the only 'man' to be lost; for of their number, well over half were already long dead, and the rest, more beastly than human.

"Archie! Watch out!"

A shrill voice rang out across the din, to be heard only by Arcturus. Only one person called him that anymore - the first had been his mother, before he was even born – and both remained the only women capable of getting away with it.

His head snapped up just in time to see a green streak of light heading straight towards him. With barely a moment to spare, he drop rolled away from the curse; the dull thud of dead weight hitting the turf assuring him that his partner had taken care of the attacker.

"Esme?" his eyes scoured the countryside, searching for the voice who had just saved his life.

Esmerelda Bane, or 'Esme' as Arcturus alone was exclusively permitted to address her, was a tall, dark haired vampire who had been turned some time throughout her twenties. It was widely regarded that her father – her _mortal _father, at least – had been a knight of Arthur's round table, and her mother was loosely believed to be Morgana herself. As one of the oldest of her kind, she commanded great power and respect amongst her coven, though had she remained mortal she would have been equally formidable in her own right. A witch before her turning, Esmerelda retained her powers still, the oceans of time that were embraced by her immortality serving well to broaden her knowledge and refine her skills, both magical and physiological.

"Yes, my child?" said a whispery voice, inches from his ear, the only other evidence of the speaker's presence being a slight chill that caused the hair on the back of Arcturus' neck to stand on end.

Unable to help himself, the boy flinched. No matter how many times the vampire had snuck up on him so completely like this, it still registered surprise, even when he was expecting her to answer his call.

Lips now, like cold velvet, brushed against that soft spot below his ear where the blood flowed so close to the surface. Indulging the woman, he fearlessly tilted his head to one side, giving her more access.

The vampire rested her nose against the pulse point and murmured into his skin.  
"You tempt me, mortal," she whispered huskily, contenting herself for the moment with a fleeting taste of his skin. Pulling her head away, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pulled him back so that their bodies were flush against each other.

"_You need your strength,"_ she explained, her lips motionless as she directed her voice directly into Arcturus' head.

"_Thank you_," returned Arcturus in kind, not about to deny his weariness to one who could sense his needs as though they were her own.

Sensing, then, rather than feeling the physical sign of the vampire's retreat, Arcturus stepped forward, out of the woman's embrace just as she let go. The transference of powers – the renewal of his weary senses – never failed to leave him feeling slightly heady. Turning to face her for the first time, Arcturus reached up and clasped the jewel that had lain on its chain, just above his heart, since the day the vampire before him had bestowed it upon him nearly twelve years previously.

'_May the fruit of this bleeding heart of mine deliver you from darkness and protect your mortal flesh_,' the memory of their first encounter replayed itself across Arcturus' mind. He had been five years old; embarking on his first journey outside Grimmauld Place under the watchful eye of the man he later came to know as his late father's own mentor and confidante. Igor Karkaroff had stepped into his life at a time when his grandmother was close to stepping out; the stubborn woman's growing illness making her unable to deny the man's requests for an audience any longer. Charged, then, with the duty of beginning the young boy's education, Igor had carried out his usual summer duties with the eager five-year-old in tow. They had been deep in the wilds of Romania, the elder man scouting for suitable Dark creatures to invite to his school, when it had happened.

Flashback

_Little Arcturus Black stood stock still in his tracks, blind to the fact that his guardian had kept going ahead, the distance between them becoming larger and larger. Small blue eyes grew impossibly wide as he tried to find the source of the sweet lady's voice in his head._

'**_Archie…_**_' the singsong voice was almost melancholy in its delivery, and the confused little boy could not help but feel a faint stab of heart ache in sympathy._

"_Mummy?" he whispered automatically. The word, and it all meant, may have been lost to the parent-less five-year-old, but it had left his lips almost instinctively, an unfamiliar longing awakening in his soul._

_As though sensing the distress emerging from his confusion, the voice relented._  
"_Oh, sweet, sweet mortal child," spidery thin fingers reached out from nowhere, stopping mere millimetres from touching his cheek. "I am not your mother… I just wanted to hear you say it…"_

_Arcturus started, and blinked rapidly, his fearful blue eyes widening when they saw a matching set staring at him intently. It wouldn't be the first time someone had coaxed him to call them 'Mummy'. A few months earlier, before his grandmother had started taking her special medication, she had refused to answer to anything else. But who was this strange woman now, staring at him with eyes so like his own?_

"_Who are you?" he whispered, frowning slightly._

_The woman closed the distance between them and rested her palm atop his head._  
"**_Oh, you are so adorable_**_," the woman's lips did not move as she spoke; a wistful keening sound that tickled at his very soul._

_Before the awed child could question the woman's strange communicative effort, a rustle of movement up ahead drew their attention. _  
"_ARCTURUS!" Igor Karkaroff spun on his heel and barrelled towards his small charge, his wand drawn and pointing at the woman who had come between them. But before he could fire off a spell, non-verbal or otherwise, the vampire had acted, grabbing hold of the small boy and whirling around, using the child's body as a shield._

_Arcturus had tensed at the sudden sensation of being lifted off the ground. But with one of the woman's hands resting firmly over his heart, the other firmly clasped under his jaw, it could only be magic that coaxed his feet from the floor._  
"_I wouldn't do that if I were you, mortal," the woman hissed out across his shoulder, the change in her voice frightening as she directed her words to his tutor._

"**_Do not fear, sweet child_**_," the lulling voice of the woman echoed in Arcturus' mind, causing him to start with surprise. Sensing his question, she continued soothingly. "**Shhhh… do not speak. The man you are with cannot hear me here in your head. Just think what you want to say to me and I will answer.**"_

"**_What are you doing?_**_" the small five year old tried to sound older and strong in his mind; his efforts met with kind laughter._

"**_Yes, yes, you can be whatever you want to be in your mind,_**_" she encouraged him telepathically. "**Now, I implore you not to listen to all which I am about to tell your consort. I wish to frighten him into submission, not scare you.**"_

"**_You are not going to hurt me, are you,_**_" it was more a statement, than a question._

"**_You are very instinctive,_**_" was the woman's echoing response. More to herself than her unwitting audience, she muttered; "**I knew there was another reason why I was drawn to you… you are destined for great things, sweet child.**"_

"_Arcturus!" Igor's voice was coarse with panic, and impossibly loud despite the distance he kept at the vampire's discretion. It was enough to break the boy's concentration, and having secured the child's attention, if only for the moment, he rushed to get his point across. "Cast her out, boy! Don't let her bewitch your mind!"_

End Flashback

"Feeling nostalgic, my child?" Esmerelda's melodic voice caressed his very soul, drawing him out of his reverie. He realised dimly that the woman had pried the small crystal from his grasp and was tucking it back under the collar of his robes.

Coming to his senses, Arcturus went rigid in the woman's embrace, the hardened teenager perplexed to find their faces inches part.  
"It was not a journey I took of my own volition," he said knowingly, recognising the residual evidence of the woman's influence over his mind. Such a mind connection rarely happened any more, at least without his consent; the years since that first encounter seeing Great-Grandfather Arcturus tutor him in Occlumency at Igor's insistence. That he was momentarily vulnerable to the Vampire's cajoling, he supposed was most attributable to his weakened physical state and the transference of powers the seductress had gifted him with.

Looking the woman square in the eye, his lips curled with hidden humour  
"And I am no longer a child," he pointed out, leaning towards the alluring creature suggestively.

"No, you are not," the vampire said dismissively. A hand with inhuman reflexes shot up and firmly gripped the teenager by his jugular, the familiar action intended to chastise, not threaten. She purred close to his ear, her hand letting go to lightly rake retractable nails against the flesh of his neck.

"But still so easily distracted!" she tutted at him mockingly.

Tearing himself from the vampire witch's reach, Arcturus growled indignantly when he took stock of their new surroundings.  
"Why did you take me from there? We were just getting somewhere!" he snarled angrily, his head whipping from side to side as he tried to place the dense forest he now found himself in. Recognising the cursed woods that protected the outside world from the coven of Esmerelda Bane, he inched his eyes skyward and sighed in exasperation. "What the hell am I doing here? The last time I was fool enough to let you lead me here, I didn't leave for almost two months… I don't have _time_ for your games, Esme…"

The formidable figure before him seemed to visibly shrink at the teen's harsh tone.  
"The battle had served its purpose," she said quietly, walking around the tense young man in a tight arc, one hand reaching out and seemingly dancing through the air as she traced his outline, never quite touching. "There was no where else for it to go."

"Who was coming, Esme?" Arcturus narrowed his eyes at the playful woman, accurately reading the knowing in the witch's eyes.

* * *

"Sirius, I would like for you to meet Baron von Astor and his lovely wife, Lady Elena." 

The wanted fugitive went bug-eyed at the esteemed introduction, his head whipping up to stare at the headmaster in question. It was extremely unusual for the Order leader to voluntarily widen the circle of people who knew of his collusion with the suspected mass murderer, let alone welcome them into headquarters.

'_Albus_,' he'd wanted to say. '_I hope you know what you are doing…'_

The tall, imposing looking man surveyed Sirius critically, eying him up and down appraisingly. Intimidated though the aristocratic, richly dressed man before him was, Sirius could not help but hold himself up under the scrutiny, holding his head high with a look of unyielding determination set on his features. He remembered, first and foremost, that this was _his_ house, and, together with the headmaster's presence, he had right of way.

"Baron… m'Lady…" Sirius bowed cordially, in what was almost a mocking parody of the richly traditional motions his proudly pureblooded parents had impressed upon him from the cradle.

The dark-haired woman, as equally tall as her husband, looked down her long nose and nodded once in acknowledgment.  
"You favour your brother," she stated blithely, as though confirming a suspicion in her mind.

"I'm sorry?" Sirius spluttered, instantly on edge at the mention of his sibling. He looked to the headmaster in question. "Albus, what…"

Ignoring the questioning look on Sirius' face, Albus Dumbledore cut his former student off in favour of delivering his own explanation.  
"Ivan and I go back a ways," he gestured politely towards the formidable looking Baron and inclined his head in memory. "He was by my side when Grindelwald fell."

Realisation dawned on Sirius' features and he felt his petulant defences slip.  
"Oh, so you're here to join the Order, then?" he asked, feeling at ease.

The old couple exchanged an awkward look, their expression metering between incredulous and quizzical as their gaze found him once more. The elder of the two, the Baron, turned to his old colleague wanly.  
"I thought you said he knew, Albus," he said impatiently. "Was he, or was he not present at the meeting?"

Sirius felt the headmaster's eyes on him and could not help but shudder under the intensity of the man's presence. He met the man's eyes with a look of bewildered confusion.  
'_Knew what?'_ he wanted to shout. '_What the hell is going on, Albus?'_

Accurately reading into the young man's expression, Albus Dumbledore sighed.  
"I duly suspect young Master Black overlooked the significance of that which he heard second hand," he guessed vaguely before accounting to the von Astors the prevalence of private conversations taking place during the standard Order meeting. Returning his penetrative gaze to Sirius, he narrowed his eyes. "Tell us, Sirius, what you recall from the latter half of our latest meeting."

Eyes wide, Sirius gaped at the headmaster in surprise. For the venerable leader to invite discussion about such a meeting outside of the secured privacy of the basement kitchen was one thing, but to call upon him to divulge such matters in front of an untested audience? Sirius didn't care if the Baron before him had stood beside Dumbledore in the war against Grindelwald; a lot could happen in fifty years. Analysing the content of the meeting in his mind nevertheless, he quickly assessed what could be construed as information fit for declassification and cleared his throat.

"Moody was detailing the second attack," he said vaguely. "In a field in eastern Europe. The three wizards killed bore a Dark Mark…"

"Do you not recall the name of the wizard who alerted authorities to the battle raging just outside his estate's wards?" prodded Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling playfully as he could see the pieces slide together in the young wizard's mind.

Sirius replayed the details over in his mind. Just before he and Remus had engaged in their private conversation, they had been discussing the possible motives of the attack; all he had caught after his friend had disengaged the Privacy Charm was that the life of a young boy had been saved by whoever had killed the Death Eaters. After the meeting, when he had cornered Tonks for an account of what had transpired whilst he hadn't been paying attention, his young cousin had informed him that the boy saved was the great-nephew of the couple who raised the alarm, that the kid had foolishly been flying outside the wards of the family's estate, after dark, when he had been inexplicably been targeted by the Dark Lord's men. Curious, he had tried to get a name out of his clumsy cousin, but all she had managed to remember was that the family targeted was headed by 'some rich European Baron who famously supported Muggle rights'.

"It… it was you?" he said, eying the Baron in a new light. Very few families who had been targeted by Voldemort managed to escape as unscathed as they all apparently had, though he could not imagine the horror of witnessing such an attack take place right on one's doorstep, particularly when there were Dark creatures involved. His eyes narrowed, and he looked to his mentor in question. It was the Baron himself, whoever, who answered the unasked question.

"I can assure you, boy, that we enlisted no Dark creatures to defend our property," the man almost scowled with distaste at the very implication, unspoken as it were. "We were not responsible for their deployment."

"Oh really?" said Sirius a little petulantly, it seeming remarkably convenient, friend of Dumbledore's or not, that a band of unidentified Dark creatures should miraculously spring to the defences of their family unbidden. He levelled his eyes at the older wizard in challenge. "Then who did?"

"Arcturus Black," the man spat, undisguised contempt aflame in his eyes.


	5. Renewing Suspicions

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Updated: **Sunday 18th February 2007  
**Edited: **Wednesday

**Chapter 5: Renewing Suspicions.**

"Was I wrong in assuming that you do not want our allegiance known to them?" said Esmerelda innocently.

The woman's conjecture appearing as transparent as his own motives so surely revealed themselves to the astute vampire's senses, Arcturus scowled.

"You know damn well that he could identify us both," he snapped. "Our departure will be seen as nothing but an act of cowardice!"

"Oh, so you would have liked to have stayed and explained yourself to your estranged blood kin and their friends?" said Esmerelda bitingly. She shook her head. "Karkaroff was right, you never should have commissioned the ritual…"

The ritual the chastising witch was referring to was ancient Blood Magic; the spell, once cast, enabling blood to call upon blood when in need of assistance. To this day, Arcturus could not quite pinpoint what had possessed him to con a vial of blood from his dim-witted cousin; he supposed the promise of having something to hold over his grandparents, coupled by the ingrained sense of duty all aspiring Durmstrang students held towards their designated protégés had appealed to him at the time. Now, after having answered the inescapable and unyielding call, he could not help but realise all too late the ramifications the ritual had, in practice.  
"Where is Master Karkaroff?" he asked suddenly, dismissing that which could not be undone from his mind. As much as he despised his incorrigible whelp of a cousin, that the boy's life had just been saved on account of the spell, he could not quite regret the action. His maternal family may have cast him out, but that did not warrant such a fate, lest of all when those Death Eaters had surely been sent forth in a deliberate attempt to draw him out.

"Here, Arcturus," a cultured, yet heavily accented voice answered him from the shadows.

"The coven treating you well, Igor?" Arcturus asked conversationally. While his firm, autocratic tutor – and later headmaster – commanded the respect that formal title bestowed, they remained on a first-name basis in closed circles.

"They have been very… _hospitable_," the wizard said hesitantly, unfailing in conveying the underlying contempt.

Arcturus nodded in understanding. The coven in question was widely revered by all who knew of it, with a great many of those numbers questioning its very existence at all. When Igor Karkaroff had unfortunately stumbled across its haven, his young charge in tow, his first instinct had been to attack - to flee – for seldom had a witch or wizard crossed the path of such a brethren and lived to tell the tale. But by the time Igor had realised what he had unwittingly led a child into, by the time he had acknowledged the danger, the boy was already in the clutches of evil itself. When, then, he set eyes upon the woman's parting gift to the child – a simple, tear-shaped crystal tied by a strip of dragon's hide around the boy's neck – Igor could not help but concede defeat. Certain things, he knew, just could not be undone.  
"I take it you have been trying to get your sleep during the days, then," observed Arcturus knowingly. "You look pale."

Unlike the strictly magical covens who accounted for the vampire population worldwide, Esmerelda Bane only turned Muggles. As such, her minions were a poor representation of the species' otherwise formidable power; the Muggle undead both intolerant to UV rays and unable to control the instinct to kill. For conventional, magical, covens, the inclusion of the uncouth nightwalkers was enough of a hindering annoyance to their way of life to ensure its exclusion, but Esmerelda Bane did not seek to be like the leader of any conventional coven. For it had been the head of an orthodox coven who had turned her, brutally feeding upon the blood of her Muggle husband and son afterwards to wipe all ties she had to the mortal realm. Creating her army, then, of bloodthirsty, amoral Dark creatures who would answer only to her, had been the course of her revenge; the coven now obscure and secretive as it hid hundreds of miles from the nearest form of civilisation, its purpose served.

"It is good to see you, Arcturus," said Igor finally, a worry crease unfurling from his brow as he approached, hand extended.

Taking the offered hand firmly, Arcturus was unsurprised when the wiry man pulled him into a firm, brief embrace, the man thumping him heartily on the back with the hand that had not pulled him close.  
"You too, Igor," returned Arcturus, his voice muffled by the man's shoulder. Though he had been bred to not allow for weak sentimental attachments, he could not deny the sense of serene homecoming. "It has been too long."

"Only six weeks," teased Igor, pulling away to brace his hands on the boy's shoulders, his eyes taking him in hungrily. "But ah, I see a lot has changed. You have met your uncle, yes?"

"How can you tell?" Arcturus' voice, defensive by instinct, but incapable of masking its awe in the present company.

Igor tutted at him and flicked him under the chin in what was a familiar attempt to reawaken his attention.  
"You did not think I would go into hiding without taking the _appropriate measures_," he stated, eyes glinting.

"You had me followed?" Arcturus recoiled, both in surprise and self-incrimination, for not realising it himself.

"Alas, you felt inclined to attack my allies," said Igor, his tone remissive and amused.

Arcturus' brow furrowed, his eyes darkening in realisation.  
"You sent Death Eaters to watch after me?" he spat, a wild look on his face. "I thought they were Lucius' men! You had to know they would not be warmly received!"

Igor's smirk grew, and it occurred to the teenager that though his mentor may have had enough hold over a select band of Death Eaters, to cajole them into shadowing an unwelcoming target, their subsequent fate at his hand had been as equally anticipated. His mood lightening – the realisation that Igor's methods of checking on him had not gone completely without his notice serving to reassure him – Arcturus shook his head.  
"You really must be defected, then," he quipped, his teacher's former allegiance with darkness the only one of its kind he could stomach in light of the vow the man had made to his father. "To knowingly unleash your former brethren to my wrath."

"I hear several of them are now permanently housed in St Mungo's," said Igor indulgently. Smiling then, he turned smug; "and I suppose you would be rapturous to learn that the Dark Lord shared your suspicion of Lucius commissioning the failed attacks. Though I find it prudent to add that some of the men you identified were not there at my behest."

Arcturus' grin turned wicked, his clear blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction.  
"Well, that puts today's events into an appealing perspective," he said shrewdly, sharing a look with the vampire who, in part, made it all possible.

Acknowledging the exchange between the boy he'd swore to protect and the woman who, strangely, wanted only the same thing, Igor curled his lips.  
"Yes, I have been hearing some rather _graphic_ stories from my _gracious_ hostess here."

"I did what needed to be done," snapped Arcturus edgily, not wanting to answer to anyone, lest of all a Death Eater, defected or otherwise. "They went after my blood… _again_. It is no longer, as you have said before, a futile lust for revenge against a faceless enemy."

Rubbing a hand over his eyes wearily, Igor backed away in an effort to placate the simmering teenager he knew so well.  
"I am in no position to argue with you," he said, casting a wary glance in Esmerelda's direction. True to form, the powerful vampire was seconds from her 'game face', a battle guise he had seen only once before and had no inclination to see again any time soon. Whereas the strangely maternal vixen had hesitated against inflicting bloodshed in the presence of an innocent, impressionable five year old all those years ago, he somehow doubted she now faced the same dilemma. No, he knew only too well that it was Arcturus' word alone that ensured his continued survival amongst the bloodthirsty shadow-dwellers he now so reluctantly shared company with. Suitably cowed, he nodded towards the teenager earnestly. "It is good to see you in one piece."

"Esmerelda and her night-children would not permit any harm to fall my way," said Arcturus dismissively. "Why just this evening, dear Esme saved me from the light of the darkest curse. I'll speak not of what happened to the man who dared to make such an attempt on my life, it will spoil your dinner. Speaking of which, after that workout I am quite famished." Turning to Esmerelda, he bowed. "My dear Esme, I trust you sent the fledglings out hunting in the woods? I get the feeling poor Igor cannot stomach his food when so many hungry eyes are drooling over his breathing flesh, and I would so enjoy the pleasure of his undivided company. We have much to discuss…"

Seeming put out by the implication that her presence would be a hindrance, Esmerelda huffed possessively. Not wanting to vex the boy – for she knew only too well of his knowledge of Portkeys and tendency to flee when feeling caged – she smiled warmly and reached up to caress his hair.  
"Very well, my child, I shall see to a veritable feast for the two of you," she crooned in his ear. "On the condition that you seek my company for a little after-dinner drink."

Beside him, Arcturus could feel his guardian-figure stiffen and bristle at the implication, but he had nothing to fear. Accepting the terms, he nodded curtly at the witch and, beckoning for Igor to follow, strode forward towards where he knew a small clearing favoured for dining to be.  
"Come, Igor," he allowed the elder wizard to lead the way. "Let me just clean up a little and then we shall eat."

* * *

"Esmerelda Bane? Where do I know that name from?" Sirius frowned at the widening crowd that now sat crammed in the recently cleaned drawing room. Together with Dumbledore and his unexpected guests, they were now joined by Remus, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt – the only Order members readily on hand.

Across from him, Tonks paled.  
"Esmerelda Bane?" she said, aghast. "Esmerelda Bane, the oldest witch in existence?"

Sirius cut her off.  
"Perenelle Flamel was the oldest living witch at last count," he said, correcting her, the perplexed expression on his face deepening as he continued trying to place the name.

Tonks huffed.  
"I said oldest witch in _existence_, not oldest witch _alive_, you twit!" she said indignantly. "Esmerelda Bane's the one who made vampires known to Muggles and gave the race a bad name… or something like that, yeah?"

Remus saw the questioning look on the young woman's face and nodded, the information sounding more and more familiar to him.  
"Her thirst for revenge against the vampire that turned her is legend," he said, dimly recalling a school time reading.

"The phrase 'bane of my existence' was first coined in her dubious honour," added Kingsley, shaking his head. "Nasty piece of work, she is… turning all those poor Muggles into vampires. There were many a bloodshed attributable to her coven during the Dark Ages… until she succeeded in getting her revenge, that is. That's not before she almost single-handedly wiped out the day-walkers of her kind, mind."

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. His memory sufficiently jogged, he just couldn't reconcile his schoolboy lessons on the woman with what she was now being accused of.  
"Yeah, but isn't she supposed to be in deep seclusion?" he frowned. "Didn't the Vampire Council mount some sort of offensive? Forbid her from increasing her number?"

At this juncture, Dumbledore nodded.  
"From a certain point of view, perhaps," he concurred. "However, vampires are very slippery characters… I believe the correct phrasing of the treaty in question prohibited Lady Bane from 'turning those who did not wish to be turned'."

Several pairs of eyes narrowed.

"Let me guess, the Vampire Council did nothing to ensure that she not use any underhanded vampire tricks to convince her victims otherwise," Kingsley voiced their fears, of which Dumbledore confirmed with simply a look.

"Alas, they did manage to prevent the coven from killing without just cause," he said optimistically.

"Showing up where they had no business being and brutally slaughtering three wizards in the presence of an 11 year old child does not constitute 'just cause', Albus," Baron von Astor virtually growled at his fellow veteran.

"They saved the child's life," Albus said pointedly.

"So they and the boy could do Merlin's knows what to him instead!" roared the Baron, rising from his chair.

Albus stood, his expression uncharacteristically dark.  
"I regret that we have fallen out of contact these last twenty years, Ivan," he said quietly; "and I will not take offence that the occasion of your daughter's marriage - and later, death - did not warrant a letter; but must you think so poorly of a child you have never met?"

His eyes darting between the two elderly men with increasing suspicion, a revelation slowly forming in his mind, Sirius stood suddenly and stole across the room, eyes seeking out a name on the very bottom of the moth-eaten tapestry that had, of late, revealed so much. Finding his answer, the pieces locked into place and he spun, wand drawn; his eyes blazing with anger as he looked upon Dumbledore's timely guests in a whole new light.  
"_You!_" he spat. "Do you have any idea what you did, abandoning the boy – your _grandson_ – to be raised in _this_ house?"

"The _boy_ is no grandson of mine," Ivan von Astor held himself up high and sneered at the brother of his unacknowledged son-in-law. Turning then, to the wizard who had brought them there, he scowled. "You had assured me your discretion, Albus! I trusted you!"

"Oh, but I didn't say a word, my old friend," said Dumbledore serenely. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, your daughter's name graces the Black family tree, and need I remind you that had your grandson not recognised you as kin, you would likely not be with us now."

"So he was _protecting us_, then?" said the Baron mockingly, his voice laced with disbelief. "With _vampires_. Albus, if that doesn't make him Dark, I don't know what does…"

The crafty old wizard considered his old friend's words for a moment before responding.  
"Alas, we are all creatures of our environment," he said, looking at the foreign couple pointedly. "That which we surround ourselves with doth vest an influence. Now, given the clear assumption that your _grandson_ did not want to see at least his young cousin killed at the hands of your mutual enemies, I can only hazard a guess that his utilisation of vampires to assist him was, perhaps, simply a means to an end."

At the Baron's look of incredulity, he continued.  
"Alas, I cannot account for how young Arcturus came to be on such terms with the most volatile and imposing vampire witch in our times."

"I think I might," said Kingsley suddenly, politely excusing himself from the room in order to retrieve something from the library.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence in the Auror's absence; Remus and Tonks feeling too out of place to intrude on what was fast becoming a family matter for their friend, and Sirius too blinded by his emotions to think straight. His first instinct, surprisingly, had been to lash out at the headmaster for keeping such a significant detail from him. But then of all the people who had read the name of Regulus' bride on the tapestry, he was the one who ought to have retained the details. Yet the name of his in-laws failed to register with him when Dumbledore had introduced them; an oversight for which he had only himself to blame.

Pacing the room agitatedly – closed spaces playing at his frayed nerves at the best of times, lest of all when surrounded by such tension – Sirius looked for something to steer his mind into shallower waters. His eyes setting upon the strange, dark-haired woman who had, apart from her vague words of greeting, remained completely silent, Sirius found his reprieve. Lady Elena von Astor… the name rolled around in his mind as he struggled to recall the maiden name that linked her with the mother of his childhood foe.  
'_Prince_,' the voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Regulus', the elegant script of the dead wizard's hand flashing to mind as he recalled the words he'd so recently read. Inwardly snickering at the self-important title Snape had flouted amongst the submissive Slytherins in Regulus' year and below – _half-blood Prince_ – Sirius replayed all that he knew about the once prominent and powerful magical line. It was something of a sad fact that of the three people left to carry the line, one was a barren old woman firmly under the thumb of a domineering, European husband, another was a loveless prat who couldn't see past the end of his abnormally long nose, and the last had been shunned from the family since birth.

Catching the eye of the woman who had failed his nephew six ways from Sunday, Sirius shook his head in disgust. Remembering, then, that this woman had grown up with Snape's mother – realising abstractedly that such a fact probably explained a lot about a lot of things – it occurred to him that the unwelcome presence of his nephew's grandparents could serve some purpose after all.  
"The Prince estate… the house where you grew up… where is it?" he asked, forgoing any preamble, his eyes glistening with unrelenting determination.

The woman, clearly unused to being addressed directly, blinked at him owlishly before nodding slowly, it becoming an unspoken fact that, somewhere deep down, at least one of Arcturus' grandparents was not completely detached from the boy's plight.

* * *

"What are your plans for the coming year, Arcturus?" the man's English was even more disjointed as he fought his nerves; his presence in such a perilous environment wearing him down after over a month in hiding.

The teen in question took a savouring sip of his wine and looked over at his dinner companion, his clear blue eyes not missing the visible signs of the man's distress.  
"Relax, Igor," he said calmly. "How many times do I have to tell you that your safety here is assured? Esmerelda gave me her _word_, and you know she does not lie. It is impossible for any of her number to defy her. You yourself taught me how the hierarchy within a coven operates!"

"Are you staying here?" the edgy man finally blurted, letting his hopes be known. It was as close to pleading for the boy's company – his _protection_ – that both wizards knew they would get.

"No," said Arcturus decisively, casting an idle glance around the intimate clearing, the canopy of the surrounding trees blanketing out the stars above. Flicking his wand towards a lantern whose wick was about to die, he renewed the light and regarded his former teacher and mentor with a calculating expression. "My place remains with the living… and yours too, I suspect."

The agitated defector swept his food from its setting in one quick swipe of his hand and stood, fists slamming down on the roughly hewn wood that served as their table.  
"It is _safe_ for me nowhere else!" he hissed, his tone making it clear that he hardly considered himself 'safe' in their current location. "I have exhausted any legions I had with my former allies having you watched; there would be no amnesty for me now."

"Then stay here if you must," said Arcturus, waving his fork in the air nonchalantly as he returned his attention to his meal.

"You can not possibly know what they are like when you are not here!" Igor ground out, holding onto his pride by a thread.

"I wouldn't know what they were like _at all_ if you had never brought me here," Arcturus reminded the wizard pointedly of that fateful evening over a decade earlier.

Igor sat back down heavily and cradled his head in his hands.

"Is that what this is, then?" he peered up at the boy with narrowed eyes. "Punishment for how my actions have unduly shaped your life?"

"Don't give yourself so much credit," said Arcturus between mouthfuls, knowing all too well that the man harboured such self-inflicted guilt. "My 'predicament' is hardly a hindrance to my plans. Esmerelda has never made me do anything I did not want to do."

"So you think," said Igor softly, inwardly reminding his student of a vampire's ability to manipulate the senses.

"So I _know_," corrected Arcturus, his head held high. "I mastered Occlumency, did I not?"

"It is not enough," Igor admitted. "Your mind is blind to her power…"

Here, Arcturus stood up and, bracing his hands on the table before him, leaned towards his companion and snarled.  
"Do not make assumptions about things you know _nothing_ about!" he snapped, but a shade of his own self-doubts becoming evident to the preceptive wizard before him. "Whatever the case, I _am_ free to come and go as I please, and I have no intention of staying here! If there is one thing Esmerelda can respect, it is my right to ensure the continuation of my family's name."

"And what of when you have created an heir," said Igor darkly, rising to his feet and mirroring the tall boy's posture so that the pair were eye to eye, their faces now inches apart. "Do you really think she would let you settle down and live happily ever after? Let you grow old with your beloved _mortal_ _wife_ and let you watch your children grow? Have I taught you nothing at all?"

Arcturus' bravado slipped ever so slightly and he pulled back slightly, his eyes betraying a lost look before being replaced by a stubborn steeliness.  
"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," he whispered almost imperceptibly, the slightest shift of a brow signalling the need for discretion.

Shaking his head, Igor reached out and, cupping one hand around the back of the boy's neck, forcibly closed the distance between them.  
"I suggest you rethink yourself if you are of the mind that you can just take what you want from her and walk away unscathed," he whispered urgently into the boy's ear. One knee braced on the edge of the table, the leverage needed to retain his current monopoly in light of the table between them, Igor tightened his grip on the scruff of Arcturus' neck and gave a little shake. "You of all people should know that no mortal man is invincible! Keep your wits about you, boy! Do not exploit the coven to fight your own war… she will come back to collect! This is why I can no longer stay here, don't you see? I cannot permit the price you will have to pay!"

Untangling himself from the concerned wizard's grip, Arcturus straightened himself up.  
"Is that what this was about?" he said, throwing his head back and laughing. "Esmerelda's invitation for an after-dinner drink… you… you actually thought…"

"Well what else do vampires drink?" snapped Igor sourly, crossing his arms across his chest, put out by being the source of the young man's humour.

"Oh I don't know," drawled Arcturus. "The same blood they drink whenever I'm not around?"

"Look me in the eye and tell me she's never tasted you," said Igor, his eyes glaring at Arcturus' own in sheer determination.

"In her eyes I am still a child," said Arcturus bitterly. "There is merit to the myths, you know. She would never accept my blood until I am grown."

"You have offered your blood?" said Igor in disbelief, the boy's deft dodging of his question not gone unmissed.

"Countless times," the boy admitted distractedly. "I could not help but wonder if she would find my blood as satisfying as my company."

Bowing his head, Igor's nails scratched at the edges of the table as his fingers curled with barely-suppressed tension.  
"Are you that starved for a mother's love that you would impress yourself upon the undead?" he sighed. "I am disappointed. I had hoped you would be above such foolish pursuits."

"It's not like that at all!" Arcturus shouted, a little _too_ defensively. He picked up his goblet and hurled it at a tree in frustration. Steeling himself almost immediately, he ran shaking hands through his hair and shook his head repeatedly, struggling to maintain the hold on his temper. "God damn you, Karkaroff! I am only human!"

"Let's hope you stay that way," muttered Karkaroff. Hearing him, Arcturus shot him a shrewd look and nodded.

* * *

The book Kingsley had managed to unearth on one of his earlier explorations of the Black Collection was as enlightening as it was disturbing. In the weeks before the teenagers had begun arriving to spend the holidays, Kingsley and Remus had scoured the house for texts fit for exclusion from even the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library; this book was clearly one of those.

Staring at the ancient old tome, which was decidedly small but sinister looking - what, with its unidentifiable binding and Dark Runes Sirius knew better than to class as decorative, running up its spine – the reluctant Black patriarch was filled with a sense of grave foreboding. Dimly, he recalled his father taking particular care with that book, insisting on reciting from its pages in person when Regulus had sought sources for a Care of Magical Creatures assignment. Remembering the spine-chilling detail his younger brother's essay on Thestrals had contained, Sirius could only conclude that whatever linked this book to Esmerelda Bane, and ergo his nephew, could not be good news.

"Here," said the dark-skinned Auror gruffly, opening the book to a page and laying it out on the table for all to see. Motioning for his audience to keep their distance, however, he read aloud:

'_The Dark lady, whose mortal son was slain  
Shall not find peace til he rise again  
Eyes of blue, heart forsaken  
Cursed is he, for the Dark lady's taking  
If answer he does, the immortal one's call  
Determine he will, the fate of us all  
Tears of pearl, blood of the ages  
Shall dispel the dangers of the darkness'_

A foreboding silence cast itself over the congregated adults, each going over the ancient prose in their minds.

"What does it mean?" Sirius asked finally.

Kingsley's eyes scanned down the page, skimming through the Dark text for clarification.  
"It goes on… more of the same…" he frowned, "but the general gist is that if your boy Archie really is in Bane's sights, then he's already half-gone."

Sirius quashed the strange feeling of endearment he felt at having his nephew referred to as 'his boy Archie' and furrowed his brow in thought.  
"So, what, this undead witch scours generations of young boys, searching for the incarnate of her dead son? What happens to the candidates that fail to live to her expectation? For to be known enough to be written about, she must pick a different boy every generation or so…"

Kingsley nodded.  
"There's no specific reference in this book from what I can gather," he said; "but there have been rumours in certain circles… stories over the years of boys going missing under near identical circumstances. This was why I was a little late coming back from Europe… I'd recognised Bane and wanted to confirm my suspicions. Sirius, it's not looking good." 

"What happens to the boys who go missing?" asked Sirius.

Kingsley shrugged apologetically.  
"No one knows," he said; "but from what I've seen of the kid, that nephew of yours fits the profile."

"So there's no hope, then?" cut in the imposing Baron, sounding almost self-righteous. "He has been bewitched by evil itself."

"There's always hope," said Kingsley resolutely. He had been about to say 'where there's a will, there's a way', but he didn't want to draw light to the possibility that the boy's will had been taken from him. Instead, he turned back a few pages and pointed to a picture that took up the entire page. Looking to Sirius, he tapped the image purposefully. "Sirius, do you recognise this? Does he wear one like it?"

Sirius peered at the faded charcoal etching of a small crystal, his eyes far away as he recalled the flicker of light that had reflected off a small jewel around his nephew's neck, the day of his and Snape's showdown in the potions side room. Swallowing thickly, he nodded.  
"Yeah," he said coarsely; "I didn't get a good look though…"

"I recognise it," said Dumbledore, his voice unusually subdued. "I take it that it represents Bane's Token?"

Kingsley nodded, his fingers scanning the text opposite the image. It was not uncommon for vampires to gift charmed jewels or other valuable heirlooms to their allies. Such 'Tokens' were generally intended to protect the bearer from harm, but more often than not were imparted with more dubious intents. Very rarely would a wizard be seen to be in possession of such an object voluntarily.  
"Don't suppose you know how long the kid's been enchanted by it, then?" said the dark-skinned Auror flippantly, not expecting an answer to his impossible question. Shaking his head dismissively, he focused on the text before him once more before looking up decisively. "It will be very hard to gauge the possibility of success without knowing how long… but if we can get him secured in a place warded enough to prevent her kind from following, we might stand a chance…"

"A chance for what?" said Sirius with bated breath.

"Redemption," said Kingsley with a determined glint in his eyes. Tapping on the page with mounting excitement, a slow smile played at his lips. "If we can get it off him… destroy it… theoretically her hold over him will be gone, and we will get a glimpse of the real Arcturus Black."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. Interrupting before the teen's eager uncle could voice his enthusiasm for such a plan, he held up a hand in warning.  
"I implore you to think about this carefully," he said. "To remove the charm will also take away the protection young Arcturus has been granted against Dark Creatures; an amnesty that may well be so firmly entrenched in his life that he has never known any different. Are you truly prepared to risk turning your nephew's life upside down?"

Sirius' eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
"No," he stated firmly, reading between the old man's words. "I will not have you try and take advantage of my nephew's predicament to suit some greater cause!"

Albus Dumbledore stared at his former student, his eyes twinkling with pride at the young man's astuteness.  
"Just think about it, Sirius," he said. "The boy is currently in no danger, and we have already witnessed the power he can yield over Dark Creatures. Such an allegiance can give us an formidable edge over our foes… they would not expect…"

"No!" Sirius was growling now, and he was not the only one dissatisfied with the wizard's suggestion. Elena von Astor was pale and trembling, her knuckles white from where her hands clenched uncontrollably in her lap. Beside her, the foreboding Baron looked markedly more composed, but men of his calibre were prided on keeping their emotions well hidden.

"Albus, are you out of your mind?" the seasoned Auror's dissent spoke volumes. "No gain is worth that kind of risk! Did you not hear a word of what I said? Bane scours the earth looking for that which cannot be found, and when she realises her foul Merlin knows what she does with the poor lads…"

The old man relented, outnumbered on all sides. Casting his weathered blue eyes towards his one-time ally, he addressed the aristocratic baron.  
"You are looking thoughtful, old friend," he said leadingly. "A Knut for your thoughts?"

"You will have to pay me a good deal more than that, _old friend_," returned the Baron, in what was clearly a familiar exchange between the two. Turning his attention to the situation at hand, he gazed over at his wife imploringly before forming his view. "I may not acknowledge the boy, but I cannot condone what you propose, Albus; unless it is his choice."

"He is not yet of age," the headmaster pointed out, though he was beginning to concede defeat.

"And neither side of his family are presently in any position to govern over the boy," von Astor acknowledged gravely. "He has more or less fended for himself since the age of eleven, perhaps before then. I may not agree with his decisions, but if they have been coloured by an inescapable Dark influence as your man here is suggesting, then perhaps I could excuse them. That he is still alive stands testament to his ability to care for himself. I lay no claim."

Shocked by the man's apparent turnabout, Sirius glared at the man, slack jawed.  
"You mean to say you _knew_ the last of his guardians had died and yet still you did not intervene?" he was aghast. "You left a _child_ to deal with the loss of his only known family and 'fend for himself'? Albus, I would have thought you of all people would keep better company than the likes of _that_!"

Ivan von Astor bristled at the accusation but did not deny it. His wife, meanwhile, looked strangely vindicated, as though her views had finally been shared by another. Catching her eye, Sirius set his face into a hard line and took a deep breath.  
"You want to say something?" he challenged the woman. "Come on, lady, you grew up in an English family – so I know you know the language – don't sell yourself short by screwing yourself under his thumb! I know there's an independent thinking mind there somewhere, speak damn it!"

Just as the Baron was about to bodily place himself in front of his wife, opening his mouth to verbally spar with the man who dared speak to his wife in such a manner, the woman spoke.  
"Bring my grandson home," she said firmly. She glared at her husband with barely repressed triumph. "See that wretched thing torn from his neck and end his bewitchment. This folly has gone on long enough, Ivan; you say you can excuse his actions in the face of evidence that he has been bewitched by a vampire, and yet you have cast him out since the very day of his birth, held him accountable for the faults of his father! Your hypocrisy knows no bounds in your old age, husband, how can you even look these people in the eye?"

"Enough!" Ivan von Astor roared at his wife, his eyes flashing dangerously. Feeling all eyes on him, all acknowledging the truth in his wife's words, he relented, vulnerable as the next man.  
"Can a man not be entitled to his own mistakes?" He took a breath to steel himself. "It may have been a mistake to cast the boy out, but it cannot be undone. We have no right to lay a claim now."

"But of course you have every right to atone for your poor judgment, hmmm?" Albus Dumbledore suggested, his eye twinkling madly. Gesturing towards the capable young Auror across from them, particularly the book that lay before said man, he brokered a solution. "Now let us all cast aside the events of our pasts and concentrate on the future. Kingsley, what thoughts do you have on bringing young Arcturus home?"


	6. Wheels Set in Motion

Disclaimer: If it were mine, I wouldn't be balking at my latest credit card statement... sighs 

**Updated: **Tuesday 27th February 2007  
**Edited: **Wednesday 02 January 2008 (and I thought my credit card statement looked bad back then... grumbles...)

**Chapter Six: Wheels Set in Motion**

"This cannot take long, I have a prior engagement over the border," the imposing teenager swept into the mausoleum purposefully, carving a direct line to his favoured resting place. 

Unhurried, Esmerelda Bane turned to greet her expected guest.  
"And what if the battle had ran long?" she asked pointedly, wordlessly reminding the boy of their premature departure from thereof.

"My hosts would understand my absence," shrugged Arcturus, reaching for the goblet that had been awaiting his arrival.

"And now?" Esmerelda raised a brow at the young man, closing the distance between them in sweeping gestures. She took her seat across from her guest. "Would they not appreciate your preference of my company?"

Arcturus shot her a shrewd look.  
"If it were true, perhaps," he said vaguely, gesticulating dismissively with his free hand. He cast his goblet aside and looked the woman in the eye. "I always meet with the team. I am expected."

Esmerelda frowned, unsettled by the implications. Leaning back into her chair, she suffered a sigh and let her disappointment be known.  
"Ah, how I do forget," she chided him, meeting his eyes with a cool expression; "you are such a warrior in battle… yet still clearly a child."

Scowling at the inherent insult, Arcturus sat up a little straighter, his tone becoming defensive.  
"It's the first game of the play-offs, Esme!" he argued, seeking to extract some understanding from the demanding woman.

"It's _Quidditch_!" lamented Esmerelda, disgusted by the energy her young liege invested in the sport.

"It's _tradition_," Arcturus shot back, in reference to his expected presence at the post-game gathering.

Upon hearing the word, the vampire backed down, unable to argue with the values of honouring a tradition.  
"I should never have stood by and permitted you to take on that internship," she shook her head in disapproval.

"It wasn't your decision to make!" gaped Arcturus, reeling at the very suggestion that vampire would ever take it upon herself to take away something he indulged in. "I was personally invited! You cannot deny me the pursuit of allies!"

"You have all the allies you need amongst my people," Esmerelda pointed out. "You needed no other assistance this evening…"

"I don't deny that!" snapped Arcturus, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he stood, beginning to pace agitatedly. "It's about creating a _balance_, Esme… Igor says…"

"-Yes, well, I've always maintained that I do not like that man," cut in Esmerelda with a wave.

"He led me to you, didn't he?" Arcturus pointed out in a neutral tone, whirling on his heels to stare at her.

"Yes, and I am protecting him now for it," snapped back Esmerelda, looking at him crossly as it became clear to her that the boy would choose the company of mortals over her. "I can understand the virtues of tradition, Arcturus, but I don't see why you insist on establishing such rituals in the first place, particularly since you bear no obligation to them anymore…"

"Foolish though it may be of me to indulge in the game, they are good flyers and loyal to each other," said Arcturus, needing to make no comparison to the complete inability of her non-magical 'children' to take to the skies in flight. "Furthermore, I _want_ their company. Am I to understand that you want to deprive me of something I crave?"

Esmerelda was upon him in a flash, her hand curling in the hair at the base of his neck, caressing the tender flesh and directing his head upwards.  
"So malleable in my hands, hmmm," she observed huskily, smiling inwardly as her physical presence succeeded in subduing the being before her. Piercing blue eyes flickered victoriously. "I constantly deny you what you _want_, my dear Archie, yet you do not object to that…"

"That's because I know it will only be a matter of time before you bring yourself to see me in a different light," said Arcturus lowly, his own blue eyes staring with steely determination.

"Alas, you will always remain a child so long as you pursue such childish endeavours," said Esmerelda, shaking her head sadly and pulling away, disgusted. "However, if you were to forgo this folly, demonstrate to me that you have grown in mind as well as body, I may acknowledge you as the man you so clearly want to be…"

Unable to prevent his body from betraying him in response to the woman's veiled seduction, Arcturus might have conceded if not for the triumphant look that was slowly growing in the woman's eye. Ignoring the tangible attraction, Arcturus turned away from the sneaky witch and levelled a glare in her direction.  
"I do not respond to bribes," he said coldly, reclaiming his resolve. "Nor am I a naïve _child_ who succumbs to distraction."  
Inclining his head stiffly, he tightened his cloak around himself and squared his shoulders.  
"Now if you excuse me, madam, I shall take my leave."

And with that, Arcturus shoved his long, slender fingers into the folds of his robe, blindly seeking, and finding, the timed Portkey he had within. The expected tug behind his navel was nothing compared to the rush of vindication he felt as his sensitive ears picked up the vampire's parting words.

"Perhaps you are more man that I do care to admit," the witch had muttered to herself, oblivious to the fact that the young man in question had managed to hear her admission.

* * *

"How can we possibly track him?" said Sirius with a frown; "his Portkeys are untraceable, and none of us know him worth a damn to be able to anticipate where he might have gone. All we can do is wait, I suppose…"

Led by the boy's maternal grandmother, the small entourage of Order members had descended upon the Prince ancestral home to find it cold and empty. Kingsley had since identified a passage in the Dark book that would enable Sirius – as the boy's closest living blood relative – to override the powerful hold the notorious vampire witch had over Arcturus, and remove the crystal Token he wore.  
"Are you certain he's set himself up here?" said Kingsley sceptically. "You just admitted yourself that you don't know the kid well. This place doesn't look like it's been lived in for well over a decade – it is possible he is staying elsewhere and just told you he would be here to placate you."

"No, he's been here," said Lady Elena distantly, hawk-like eyes not missing anything as she took in the grand reception room she'd not seen in well over twenty years. "The wards have been… adjusted."

"Well do you know if he's coming back?" said Sirius impatiently.

"I cannot possibly deduce that from the wards, no matter how thorough they may be," the woman pointed out, looking to her husband for support. "But Gunther… Ivan, tell them what Gunther said…"

Ivan von Astor looked thoughtful for a moment. Seeing a resolution to their problem, he inclined his head towards his wife in acknowledgment and prepared to speak for his wife.  
"After the boy turned up with his followers I duly suspected, and my great-nephew has since confirmed this, that a blood ritual was in play," the man explained dispassionately. "I daresay you are familiar with it, Mr Black?"

Sirius nodded, paling considerably. Such awareness was an unavoidable requisite of growing up in the house of Black. The ritual itself was not inherently Dark, but easy to exploit for the wrong reasons, thus accounting for its ambiguity amongst the Light-minded.  
"Blood calling blood…" mused Sirius, frowning slightly at the discrepancies he found within the explanation. He voiced his question. "No offence, but why would Arcturus go to such lengths to protect his replacement? You're not exactly on the best of terms with your grandson, and from what I've seen of him he doesn't come off as the charitable type. What possessed him to perform such a ritual?"

The look the elder couple gave Sirius only served to validate the earlier concerns they had voiced regarding their estranged grandson's motives. Letting his presence be known, Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat and addressed the woman who, formerly, called the house they were in 'home'.  
"Elena, your affinity with the wards is truly remarkable," he praised; "I do not suppose you are able to confirm the protection of this property against intrusion from Dark creatures? If Arcturus has been bewitched it is unlikely that the boy installed any such measure, but perhaps there's a ward of your forefathers' than we can build upon, thus ensuring that our wayward host cannot attract trouble upon his return…"

The pureblood Prince woman closed her eyes and concentrated on the magical pull of her childhood home. Satisfied with what she found, she opened her eyes and favoured her husband's contemporary with a small smile.  
"No matter their bond, no vampire can cross the threshold," she assured them all. She sighed; "I'd even say that we've all grossly underestimated the child. He has in fact added to the very wards precluding the woman and her kind entrance."

At hearing this, Kingsley perked up.  
"He's rebelling against her," he said excitedly. "Whether he's aware of it or not, the real Arcturus Black is fighting through. Guess it must be that infamous Black stubborn streak…"

"Hey!" Sirius protested at his colleague's pointed barb, the darker man now grinning at him secretively.

"Genetic disposition or not, this revelation serves us well," said Dumbledore congenially. "Our plans may just work."

* * *

The room Arcturus next found himself in was almost as gloomy and dank as the stone mausoleum he had just left. With its fading fresco and worn decor, the once grand ballroom was a picture of decaying decadence. Yet though the room – and most likely the building it was encased in – was well past its time, the venue remained one of the most coveted and exclusive amongst its high-end clientèle.

Weaving his way through the wall-to-wall crowd, Arcturus did not have time to stop and admire the simple craftsmanship of a bygone era. Whilst many such buildings had been acquired by industrious entrepreneurs and renovated into post-modernistic neon disasters that were frequented by the shallow progeny of 'new money', there were still a great deal of people in the old town who prided themselves on tradition. To the ignorant, such establishments were classed as 'boutique'; crumbling and neglected buildings doomed to last about as long as the snobby, pipe-smoking old men who were its patrons.

To Arcturus, it was his idea of a good time.

Finding who he was looking for, the proud, lithe teen adjusted the clasp on his cloak and squared his shoulders. Around him, witches and wizards from all over the Continent rhythmically pulsed and moved to the live band up on stage. Contrary to common belief, there was not a chain-smoking old man in sight, with barely a person under 40 to be found. The only thing old about the place – besides the untouched walls that closed them in – was the money that flowed from its members' purse strings.

"Arcturus!" a tall wizard stood and waved him over, the teen's presence spotted at last.

Climbing the stairs that separated the dance floor from a string of private tables around its border, Arcturus schooled his face into his most impressive mask and prepared himself for the onslaught. Whilst the Black money was practically as old as time itself, the family name alone had done nothing notable for generations. That Arcturus was amongst the youngest of the group only served to add to his pursuit for high standing.

Pulling himself up short a few feet from his host, Arcturus fisted his right palm over his heart and, clicking his heels together, bowed curtly.  
"Viktor," he said in acknowledgment as the taller wizard mirrored the greeting.

When the other occupants of the table simultaneously stood and repeated the gesture, Arcturus turned in their direction and responded in kind. A flash of gold catching his eye from where it hovered, trapped within a containment field in the centre of the table, Arcturus favoured the Bulgarian Quidditch team with a smile.  
"Ah, Viktor, the victor, yet again!" said Arcturus, looking the triumphant Seeker in the eye.

"But of course," said Viktor with slight inclination of his head. Gesturing to an empty chair to the right of his place, he offered his young guest a seat. "Come, sit. I trust you will find the view most to your advantage."

The view the accomplished Quidditch champion was referring to was the unobstructed vantage point their table offered to the performer onstage. Removing his cloak and handing it to the closest House Elf he could see – each table being surrounded by at least five of the small attendants, the proudly disciplined servants standing at statue like attention until called upon – Arcturus accepted his seat at Viktor's right and nodded to the Elf in approval.

The House Elf vanishing with his cloak, presumably to store it in the cloakroom, it was promptly replaced by another in its stead; this one carrying a tray with a small bottle and accompanying glass. Accepting the House Elf's choice with a curt nod, the creature snapped the fingers on its spare hand, causing the drink to re-appear on the table in front of Arcturus, the once empty glass now filled with a portion of the bottled beverage. Once satisfied that their latest master was duly served, the animated House Elf stepped back into formation and stood at attention.

"Can they actually talk at all?" the young man mused, causing those at the table around him to shrug slightly. As part of the service, the faceless operators of the magical establishment made it their business to know the preferences and needs of their esteemed clientele. Drink cards were filled in advance, and meals tailored by table, and though Viktor had handled all of his arrangements prior to his first visit several years previously, Arcturus had not seen any need to change his order.

"Absinthe again?" one of the Beaters seated closest to Arcturus eyed the younger wizard's beverage with a teasing grin. "I thought it was your prerogative to be unpredictable?"

Inwardly, Arcturus cringed as the elder wizard turned a statement he had made previously against him.  
"Ah, but the best deception is often executed when one's opponent is convinced of one's predictability," said Arcturus, recovering. "I accept the same beverage here both because I prefer it and because I know that it is safe. Woe to thy enemy who doth try to anticipate my thirst and woo me with this brew."

Taken aback by the calculated strategy the unassuming wizard had just demonstrated in their confidence, the teasing Beater backed down with begrudging respect. Across from him, one of the Bulgarian Chasers inclined his head in acknowledgment.  
"I had not thought of it that way," he said in thick, highly accented English. "Very… what is the word? Viktor…"

The Seeker replied with something in Bulgarian, Arcturus' shaky grasp of the language recognising the foreign word for 'subtle'. Glancing over at the youngest members of the team – all of them reserve players who Arcturus was only vaguely acquainted with from their time together at Durmstrang– Arcturus had to wonder if the team's newest recruits even knew the meaning of the word. All were staring rather pointedly at the jewel around his neck, mixed looks of confirmation and awe playing across their open features.

Feeling only the slightest twinge of self-consciousness, Arcturus sighed. Whilst his association with the reviled Vampire Witch was not exactly common knowledge, there were enough rumours and innuendo stemming from his place amongst the Dark Creatures of his school to rouse healthy suspicion. Normally, he kept the Token of Bane's favour tucked within the folds of his robes, but as he were still dressed for an audience with Dark Creatures, his former brethren were being offered an unobstructed view of his alliance for the first time.

"What in Morgan's blazes are you wearing?" the tallest of the reserve team, a Keeper formerly from one of Durmstrang's most highest-ranked teams, eyed him levelly.

Arcturus could not help but smirk at the sheer irony of his former alumni's choice of words. Toying with the aspiring player, the young wizard clearly hoping to challenge the non-player for higher position within his new team's hierarchy, Arcturus leaned back in his chair and tugged at the folds of the cream silk shirt he wore.  
"This? Oh, just something I found lying around," he said flippantly, pulling at a cuff between finger and thumb, as though inspecting it for the first time, before flexing his wrists out of the sleeves and dismissing it. "Albino Acromantula silk, I believe, from northern Arabia; though I don't like to boast…" 

"The Albino species of Acromantula has not been spotted in Arabia for near on a millennia," said the opposing wizard with scorn, making it clear from his tone that he wasn't asking after the shirt in the first place. "If _I_ had such priceless artifacts in my possession I would not wear them to somewhere as common as a _night club._"

"So I take it you don't want to know how old my trousers are, then?" leered Arcturus, cocking a brow. He didn't even bother to add that he only ever donned such garb for Esmerelda, the woman preferring to see her charge in attire befitting of her time. The leather trousers were tailored from the softest leathers, blood brown, with a series of practical and decorative laces to practically bind the fabric to his limbs as though it were a second layer of skin.

Calling an abrupt halt to the rising battle for dominance amongst the youngest members of the table, Viktor cut in.  
"Arcturus, I do think your attire proper to this room,"

"Why thank you, Viktor," said Arcturus with a sincere smile, triumph glittering in his eyes as he had once again managed to maintain his position at the man's right. He knew from experience that the reserve Keeper was simply vying for position amongst his new team, and that Arcturus was foreseen as a threat. After all, it was very unusual for a summer intern to be regarded as anything more than a glorified gofer, and indeed Arcturus had spent more than his fair share of time that first summer polishing Bludgers and servicing brooms. That he had happened to demonstrate a knack for Quidditch strategy and could, through his amicability with the Dark Creatures of Durmstrang and unsurpassed favour with its headmaster, offer the services of an unprecedented security detail, was something that left a much more lasting impression. Even though he was still a student, he enjoyed the benefits of an unofficial assistant coach, inclusive of its lucrative payroll and patron endorsements. The experienced members of the team may not all have been comfortable with his rumoured status as Esmerelda Bane's latest conquest, and his name bore him no favour amongst those that were not impressed by money alone, but passing countless tests like the one he had just faced with the insecure reserve Keeper had gradually earned him the respect he felt he deserved.

Making himself more comfortable, the young wizard picked up the delicate silver tongs that had appeared alongside his drink and, picking up a perfectly square cube of sugar, stirred it into his glass. Around him, conversation travelled to the game the victorious team had just played; the strategic analysis of the game conveyed in a mix of broken English and swift Bulgarian. Interjecting with his opinion where he could – always in English for his oral command of the foreign tongue was even more dismal than his aural comprehension of the language – Arcturus eased himself into the familiar banter and cleared his mind of the events that plagued him earlier that evening.

"You are a modest one," said Viktor suddenly, staring at Arcturus appraisingly. "For here we are basking in our victory when you are secretly coveting your own."

Arcturus' hand instinctively rose to his brow, where he knew a fresh wound was only just beginning to fade. Finding himself the object of scrutiny once more, the young wizard felt increasingly uncomfortable as his company began to whisper unintelligibly and bristle in their chairs. Keen ears picked up gasps of realization and dawning dissent, the mixed party of Quidditch enthusiasts sporting varying degrees of accommodation to this latest turn of events. Clearly, his clandestine victory against the group of Death Eaters had warranted a mention on the last WWN broadcast. While none would mourn the most recent loss of Death Eaters, Arcturus knew for certain, their opinion of the particular means he had used to secure this latest victory would be as vast and turbulent as the ocean.

Rubbing at his brow, the skin still tingling from the effects of the healing salves he had applied before sitting down to dinner with Igor, Arcturus tried to remain nonchalant.  
"I was protecting my kin," he said firmly, as though his obligation to protect those his blood accounted for the particularly heinous means he had deployed.

"Ah, always one to exploit his surround," said the Beater to Viktor's left; the highly adept player his Seeker's shadow both in and out of the game. "Just as you say before the game, ya?"

Arcturus nodded congenially, inwardly brimming with pride that one of the team's players should take it upon themselves to apply the principles of his game plans to real life. Any comment he could have made, however, was cut off by the arrival of the house band, who, having completed their set, were now doing the rounds at the elevated V.I.P tables. Instantly, the overly formal Quidditch players stood, looking smart and official as they pounded the breasts of their matching team tunics and bowed in greeting, as they had done for Arcturus an hour earlier.

Draining his Absinthe, Arcturus was the last to stand, only listening half-heartedly until he caught the introduction of the lead singer's name.  
"Lorcan d'Eath?" he raised a brow in question, eying the decadently dressed performer up and down. The man, though pushing his thirties, barely looked a day over 25. Widely considered amongst witches as a 'heartthrob', his latest song, '_Necks to You_' was well on the fast track of setting a record for most weeks at number 1.

"Arcturus Black," said d'Eath, his otherworldly eyes landing on the sparkling crystal that hung around the younger wizard's neck. Taking the boy's hand firmly in his own, he gave the wizard a meaningful look. "_Brother_. Your reputation precedes you."

Arcturus felt his skin begin to crawl; it widely humiliated him when other vampires were drawn to the protective Token he wore and swore themselves as his 'brother' in mortal company. Pulling his hand out of the mortal vampire's cool grip, he decided to capitalize on the charismatic singer's status as a denigrated Half-Breed. The wizard had 'come out' a several years previously, confirming the rumour that he was part-vampire; his mother having been Turned early in her pregnancy. Technically conceived, therefore, of mortal parents, d'Eath – and those like him – were vampires of a distinctly mortal breed. They lived more or less like humans, with the exception of preternatural senses and the occasional bloodlust; often curable by a serving of near-raw red meat.

When his boy-band concept did not take off within wizarding circles, however, Lorcan d'Eath had become the first to effectively cash in on his predicament, turning the circumstances of his birth into a highly profitable and highly marketable commodity. Witches the world over had lapped up the illusive 'Darkness' of his origins and swooned to his hypnotic baritone. Wizards, on the other hand, held a much more realistic view of the opportunistic performer, as was now evident by the unabashed reception the wizard was now getting from the table of masculine Quidditch players.  
"I have no 'brothers'," said Arcturus coolly, glaring at the wizard contemptuously. "Lest of all amongst Half-Breeds like yourself."

"Ever the hypocrite," said Lorcan with a smooth, knowing smile. "Consorter with Night-Crawlers, or whatever it is you choose to name the cursed _Muggles_ who hath succumbed to the Lady's Call."

Arcturus' expression hardened. For Lorcan d'Eath to recognize the protected pendant he wore as that of Esmerelda Bane, he had to give the wizard a little more credit. Most unfamiliar Dark Creatures he'd come across accepted it as just a Token, from no defined coven, nothing more.  
"I do not deny it," he said, leering. "But they are more my servants than anything as familial as brothers."

"Only because of that Token you shamelessly flaunt," Lorcan hissed, looking strangely restrained by an unseen force.

"Ah, but it serves its purpose so well this way, does it not?" teased Arcturus, picking up said crystal in his hand and, pulling on its leather strap, holding it out towards the recoiling half-vampire.

A hand on his shoulder prevented the teenager from advancing forward.  
"Enough," said Viktor, barely able to repress his laughter. "It is rude to provoke the entertainment."

Arcturus let go of his Token and looked up at his mentor, eyes glinting in mirth.  
"Ah, but I thought that was the point of the entertainment," he said disdainfully. "To be entertaining, no?"

It was an unspoken consensus that watching a grown wizard retreat at the sight of a precious stone was far more entertaining than the self-possessed singer's earlier strutting and warbling. That those of the players who were uneasy with Arcturus' allegiance with Dark Creatures could find brevity in such a situation was only a sign of how lowly they thought of d'Eath's pompous posturing and manipulation of the female population.

Smirking malevolently as the part-vampire valiantly tried to recover his dignity, excusing himself stiffly, Arcturus was caught unawares by the sudden stabbing pain in his gut.  
"Not _again_," he cursed, for the second time that night regretting his Blood Bond with his scrawny little cousin.

Picking up on his young protégé's sudden discomfort, Viktor was quick to take stock of the situation.  
"The Blood Bonds, they call again," he frowned. "So soon?"

Heeding Viktor's timely question, Arcturus hesitated in answering the call. All at once, he noticed something _different_ about he blood calling to him… something _forced._ Grimacing as the pain became more insistent – and he knew it would keep up until he answered the call – he was distantly aware of someone voicing their disapproval of his use of Blood Magic that was not that different in principle to the Dark variation of the Protean Charm Voldemort used to brand his members. Before he could ascertain whom the voice of dissention belonged to, however, he found his vision beginning to fade.

"Damn it," he swore, looking to the team's captain - his host and mentor - apologetically. "Sorry Viktor, I have to take care of this."

"But of course," said Viktor in understanding, adding something in Bulgarian that roughly translated as 'blood is blood'.

With those parting words of acceptance, Arcturus nodded once and promptly vanished.

* * *

"Must we really be that forceful?"

Lady von Astor's complexion was ashen as she watched her husband endure the effects of another Cutting Curse. It had been quickly deduced that in order for the group to call in on the Blood Bond Arcturus had established with his cousin, the blood of one who shared that same blood would have to be spilled. As neither Sirius nor Elena were biologically related to the weedy first year, that had only left the proud Baron who, lying on the floor in a pained heap, was truly beginning to show his age.

"We've tried everything else," said Sirius in exasperation. Short of bringing the family's already-traumatised great nephew to the scene and hexing the child intended for the Bond, this was the best they could do. With several generations of inter-mingling blood standing in their way, however, spilling blood was simply not enough. They also had to cause pain.

"He can't take much more," whispered the woman fearfully. Her husband had screamed for the first time only moments earlier, and having known how steely the man's resolve normally was, knew that her spouse was fast nearing his limit.

It had, at first, surprised them when the Baron had been so willing to submit himself to the torture in order to activate the Blood Bond and call Arcturus to them. His turnabout had been stiff and reluctant, no one quite conceiving the depth of his regret. Watching, then, as the man writhed under the strength of Dumbledore's curse – the leader of the Light the only one most likely to evade consequence should things go horribly awry – Sirius felt himself filled with hope for his wayward nephew; the tenuous hold Bane had over him would soon be removed, and if the suffering the old man before him was willingly going through was anything to go by, the kid might just have a family yet.


	7. Something Unexpected This Way Comes

**Disclaimer: **Either it's not mine, or I need to have serious words with my bank manager about where all those royalty cheques have been going all this time... :P

**Updated: **Saturday 24 March  
**Edited**: Wednesday 02 January 2008 (you get the impression it's a slow work day?)

**A/N: **I know. I'm terrible. But I've been battling _major_ writer's block. Can't remember the last time I had such a dry spell! I need inspiration...

**Chapter Seven: Something Unexpected This Way Comes…**

Blindly answering the pull of the Blood Bond, Arcturus was surprised and momentarily disorientated to find himself the one place he'd least expected to wind up – the entrance hall of his parents' home. His eyes registering disbelief at the sight of his grandfather – a man he'd only first laid eyes upon earlier that evening – being tortured by none other than Albus Dumbledore, he'd made the potentially fatal mistake of hesitating in his shock. A wordless Disarming Spell hitting him from the shadows, he found his arms pinned from behind - strong, dark-skinned arms pulling him back against their owner in the mockery of an embrace. His struggling only intensified when Dumbledore lifted the curse on the near-unconscious old man, another familiar face emerging from the shadows.

"_You_!" Arcturus spat venomously. Swearing colourfully, he demanded an explanation.

Eyes flicking between the slowly approaching man and the Hogwarts professor, who was now supporting his very haggard looking victim whilst an old woman – his _grandmother, _of all people -administered healing potions, he scowled in frustration against the arms that had him so effectively trapped.  
"If you had wanted to see me there were sure as hell other ways of doing it other than exploiting a damn Blood Bond and rudely interrupting my evening!"

Sirius did not speak, his face stoic in his concentration, the man slowly closing the distance between them; his wand drawn. Feeling the slightest tingle of Non-Verbal magic being cast on him a moment too late, Arcturus' eyes widened.  
"What the devil are you doing?" he demanded. "You want to cast spells on me? Well give me back my wand and duel me like a man, why don't you? This is absolute cowardice!"

Arcturus kept on and on, throwing verbal insults and increasingly desperate – though heavily veiled – pleas his uncle's way, all in an effort to destabilize the man and throw him off whatever incantation he was trying to wordlessly pull off. As Sirius' free hand reached out to grasp the small crystal around his neck, realization dawned on the trapped teen and he let out an almighty scream.  
"NO!"

A wand, now, pointed directly at his head, its tip endeavouring to rest between his eyes, and Arcturus was stunned to find two other people either side of him, gentle yet firm hands forcing his head to stay still. By the weathered feel of their skin alone he could tell they were his grandparents, but it baffled him as to just what they were even doing there; they hated him. Locking eyes with his uncle, it occurred to him that perhaps his father's brother had been in collusion with his mother's parents all along, and that they all wanted him to endure an unspeakable fate. Why else would they band together like this, trying to take away the one thing in his life that was his, and his alone?  
"No!" he screamed again, his mind now beginning to feel the effects of whatever spell it was his uncle was casting, the man's incantations now coming out in breathless whispers, increasing in volume and urgency. "You don't know what you're doing! You mustn't break the Bond! She's all I have! She's helping me fight this war! How else am I supposed to avenge my parents?"

"With our help," his grandmother told him softly, her face inches from his ear.

The urge to whip his head around and snarl at the woman momentarily cast his attention away from the pulling grip his uncle now had on his Token; the disbelieving boy snorting derisively.  
"Is that before or after you raze this house to the ground for allowing a precious hair to be plucked from dear Gunther's head?" he leered, though it was hardly satisfying when he could not cast his glare the woman's way. For old people, he realized, they sure had a firm grip. The slightest flinch of the woman's hand, however, assured him that his words had hit home, the spiteful words of the old couple's one and only letter to their grandson not so easily forgotten.

Having recognized the reference from a comment his nephew had made in passing, Sirius' eyes hardened and flicked towards the couple, mirroring his earlier contempt. The split-second distraction, the slight break in the rhythm of his chanting, was all it took for the Token to begin mounting its defensive. The hand firmly grasping the crystal jerked, the man's face contorting into a pained expression as the jewel began to burn his skin.

"Keep going," said Dumbledore urgently. "You are almost there!"

Sirius nodded quickly, beads of sweat appearing on his brow as he cleared his throat and resumed his chant, his voice slowly increasing in volume. Outside, a loud bang erupted from just outside the property's wards, and a bright light flickered through the windows.

"Bane's here," said Arcturus, his body beginning to sag in relief despite the additional progress the group holding him captive were making. "And let me tell you, she's really, _really_ mad."

"Archie!" the woman's high-pitch scream cut through the dense wards like the piercing battle cry that it was. Motioning for the three wizards holding Arcturus in place to maintain their positions, Albus Dumbledore wordlessly volunteered to go outside and assess the looming threat.

"Be a sport and leave the door open, will you?" Arcturus called after the man in a singsong voice. By looking over his uncle's shoulder, he would have a clear view of the front garden should the man have obliged him. "The image of you getting your head ripped off is bound to be a very valuable commodity!"

"Arcturus!" his grandfather's voice, evidently hoarse from screaming earlier, addressed him for the first time.

Fitting, Arcturus thought, for a scolding to be the first thing the man could think to say to him face to face… well, not even that, even. He scowled in response, but said nothing, the force of his uncle's enchantment beginning to cause him almost physical pain as he began to feel the presence of Bane's influence slowly pried from his heart and soul.  
"Please don't," he said in a small, pleading voice, the thought occurring to him that he simply could not remember being any different; could not recall a time where he did not have her presence with him, mediating his every emotion. Though he had never planned on submitting himself to a life of servitude or exchanging his mortality for an eternal place at her side, the thought of no longer having her to turn to absolutely terrified him… so much so that he was completely unaware of the defeated tears that leaked from his eyes.

Oddly enough, the pressure on one side of his head lessened, and he could dimly register the sound of a woman humming a lullaby close to his ear. On his other side, his grandfather shifted, adjusting his hands so that he could keep both sides of Arcturus' neck in place; the man's wife having taken to using her hands to rub his shoulder encouragingly and run fingers through his hair.

In any normal situation, Arcturus would have recoiled and scorned the pointed display of affection, but irrespective of his forcibly bound state, he found himself demonstrably immobile at the all-too-familiar tune.  
"My mother…" he choked out, recalling with all too much clarity the memory his paternal grandmother had forced him to watch on almost a nightly basis when he was young. The image of his exhausted mother, holding his newborn form close and lulling him to sleep, the woman seemingly impervious to the Dark Wizard who had arrived, was one that haunted his dreams; the lullaby she nervously hummed unmistakably the same as the tune the older woman was now humming in virtually the same room. He gasped with the intensity of the correlation, the room around him beginning to swim, both with the force of his highly wrought state and the progress of his uncle's spell casting. Feeling, then, the last of Bane's hold over him beginning to slip away, the hide that had firmly secured her Token to his breast now beginning to weaken around his neck, Arcturus' world began to fade.

"Easy, son," a voice behind him rumbled, the arms around him adjusting their hold, effectively supporting the weight of the lax boy's body. "In and out, c'mon kid, breathe…"

Blinking furiously in a futile attempt to keep his eyes focused, Arcturus could barely register the man's insistence that he breathe. With a shuddering gasp, it only abstractly occurred to him that he was hyperventilating, and he tried earnestly to follow the man's helpful instructions.  
'_In… out… in… out,'_ he tried to tell himself, but his body just wouldn't listen.

Suddenly, it was all over. The link was broken with the ear-splitting snap of taut leather, a lick of abused dragon hide whipping up to lash his face. All at once, hands loosened their grip, and he pitched forward into the waiting arms of his uncle. Had Arcturus been paying attention to anything asides the sudden fracture within his innermost mind, he might have noticed that he was sobbing, and that he was now being embraced from three sides; the surviving members of his immediate blood family cocooning themselves around his limp form, physically and emotionally preventing him from following the presence that had just been so forcibly wrenched from him.

"What have you done?" the boy whispered fearfully, not even consciously aware of his words as the world around him went blissfully black.

* * *

"NOOOOOOOO!" the scream of the immortal woman was tangible as it cut through the pre-dawn sky. Scores of pale vampires flanked her on either side, their composure belying their fear of the coming sunlight; their fearless leader the only one among them who could withstand the piercing rays.

"Be gone," said Dumbledore warningly, the omnipresent twinkle in his eyes replaced by a grave seriousness that reminded any one within eye shot of the man that they were dealing with a power that had defeated many a Dark wizard. He sliced his wand in the air, the blazing cross that appeared before him causing the weaker of the offence to cower.

He levelled his wand at the woman at the front of the pack and muttered a spell, the wards shimmering blue for a moment as he enforced their strength.  
"Be gone of this place," he repeated. "His blood hath reclaimed him. A new dawn approaches. Go now before the waking sun claimeth all that remains to be yours. My war is not with you, woman. Stand down!"

"The boy is worth a liege of these worthless creatures!" she hissed, her arms swinging wide to encompass all who were doomed to serve her. "I will gladly sacrifice them!"

Aiming her wand at a point beyond Dumbledore's shoulder, to where she knew Arcturus to be held just slightly beyond the closed main doors of the house, the infuriated vampire witch muttered a counter to the spell she knew was being cast within its four walls. When her attempts to exploit her mind link to the child that was, in all technicality, within prime physical range, failed, she screamed agonizingly; realising all too late what Dumbledore's addition to the wards had done.  
"No!" she screamed. "You are _killing _him! He cannot survive the transfer! It has been too long! He is mine!"

The woman was beside herself in a mix of concern, fear and all-consuming rage.  
"How _dare_ you interfere in the makings of destiny!" she screamed at the man when all else failed. She fell to her knees and began to beg shamelessly for the boy who had, for over ten years, steadily filled the void in her lifeless heart. "The child belongs to me! Can't you see that this will kill him?"

Momentarily affected by the appearance of the woman's sincerity, Dumbledore steeled himself and remained impassive.  
"If death calls him, then that is a risk his family were willing to take for his freedom," he said steadily, though inwardly he was beginning to think he ought to have pushed the benefits of the boy's continued allegiance with the Dark and illusive witch before him a little more.

"His 'family'?" Esmerelda mocked, rising to her feet with renewed indignation. "Those worthless scum who abandoned the childe at his most prone? What right do they have to choose his fate? What right do you?" she took a step forward, grimacing as the ward she fought against started to urge her back. "Tell me, wizard, what of the boy's choice? Would he willingly choose death if you had given him the chance?"

Dumbledore paled, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. It was true, he knew, that they had deprived the boy of all choice in the matter, and they had indeed delved into the situation without quite knowing its consequences. Numbly, he began to think that maybe they had made a grave mistake, that their actions were signing the child's death warrant. But then a part of him was only all too aware of the power such a suggestive witch could weave over the minds of those who already possessed the seed of doubt, and he forced the thought from his mind; breaking eye contact with the vampire. A piercing scream from within the house signalled the finality of their choice.  
"It is done," he said, no longer feeling any sort of presence fighting to break through the ward he had sent up to block any effort the vampire made to reaffirm the hold her Token had inflicted upon its victim. He lowered his wand. "The sun arises. There is no point in you staying."

Becoming aware of the discomfort of her followers, each of the unfortunate Muggle undead unable to think for themselves and thus forced to endure the pain of the early morning light until granted permission to leave, Esmerelda Bane took an unneeded breath of defeat and vanished her army with the snap of a finger. Then, squaring her shoulders at the foreboding light wizard who had gotten the better of her, she thrust her chin high and glared at the man in challenge.  
"Do not think for one moment that I will let him go that easily," she said lowly, the only way her voice had made it to Dumbledore's ears being because she had wanted it to do so. "I will come for him when you least expect it…" she cast a fleeting look towards the house and smiled secretively. "…That is of course unless the dear boy does not seek me out first."

She was gone before Dumbledore could even question himself on the possibility of her words.

Would, indeed, the boy seek her out even though her hold over him was lifted?

* * *

Harry sat in the library of Grimmauld Place, a book set in front of his face under the pretence of studying. Around him, assorted red-haired Gryffindors begrudgingly ploughed their way through the last of their summer essays, Hermione bustling from person to person, overseeing their progress. Glaring at the Potions text in his hands, Harry knew he ought to actually read the page before him – and take notes – but his heart, unsurprisingly enough, was just not in it; his thoughts drifting yet again to the same issues that had been plaguing him all week.

Arcturus Black.

The raven-haired boy frowned. Sirius had been gone for hours, leaving suddenly with some old friends of Dumbledore's, the headmaster himself, and Kingsley Shacklebolt; the group staging a search for the man's recently discovered nephew. His godfather had left without so much as a goodbye, with no indication of where he was going, let alone when – or if – he would be back.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. When he had read the name on the tapestry, Harry had been so certain that the news of a nephew was going to bring nothing but good tidings to them all. Arcturus wasn't supposed to hate Sirius, or run away, and Harry had been looking forward to finding a measure of understanding from the teen who had also lost their parents and been raised in difficult circumstances; a connection he hadn't been able to forge with any of his friends. He didn't expect the slightly older boy to immediately look down on him, damn near kill his best friend and rebuke every effort of reconciliation Sirius made – all within the first hour!

Reflecting on his own tumultuous upbringing at the Dursley's, a small part of Harry could identify with the illusive teen's defensive nature. Strongly discouraged against outdoing Dudley in their primary school classes together, Harry had been unnecessarily abrasive and defensive with any teacher who had seen the potential in him and tried to help him improve. He certainly hadn't wanted to do so poorly in his classes, and had he not feared what his teachers might convey to his aunt and uncle, he would thrived from the attention, but circumstances held him back.

Harry could only hope it was the same way with Arcturus. Sirius did not deserve a nephew to despise him so; he had been through so much already. A small voice inside Harry also protested that if all the boy was going to was reject his uncle, then all the time and energy Sirius was wasting trying to find the kid could be better directed _his_ way. Ever since the man's getaway at the end of his third year, Harry had been clamouring for the opportunity to spend some real quality time with his godfather. When circumstances mandated that he be taken to Grimmauld Place, he had been over the moon; but things were not playing out nearly as well as he had hoped. Whenever Sirius wasn't tied up in a secretive Order meeting, they were cleaning, or talking about things the man was not allowed to really give him any detail about.

In all actuality, Harry could barely recall a moment where they had spent _any_ time together, without some of his friends, or an Order member readily on hand! Now, irrespective of if Arcturus was going to come back or not, Sirius' time would be further monopolized, Harry seeing even less of the man whom his parents had wanted to care for him.

An unbidden dark look crossed over his face, catching Hermione's astute attention.  
"Are you having trouble there, Harry?" she asked kindly, in her noted 'teacherly' tone.

Harry tore his sightless gaze away from the book in front of him and blinked at the girl in surprise.  
"Huh? Oh, my Potions essay… er, right… what's it supposed to be on, again?"

Hermione clicked her tongue disapprovingly and gathered up her notes, crossing the room and taking a seat beside him without invitation.  
"Well let's have a look at what you've done, then," she said assertively, reaching over for his parchment, which, to her utmost dismay, was blank. "Harry! Do you mean to tell me that you've been sitting here for an hour and you haven't taken _any_ notes? Are you trying to memorise the chapter? Do you want me to quiz you?"

Not in the mood for the buzz of questions Hermione was throwing at him, Harry sighed. Snapping his book shut in aggravation, he snatched his 'notes' back from the stunned girl and shook his head.  
"Just leave it, Hermione," he said tiredly. "I haven't been taking anything in, all right?"

"But there's only two weeks left of summer, Harry! _Two weeks_!" she exclaimed, missing the point entirely. "Aren't you the least bit concerned that you won't finish your homework in time?"

'_Two weeks'_ Harry thought to himself miserably. Two weeks was all he had left to try and make up for a lifetime of missed childhood with his godfather. Some chance.

"Why did you have to remind me, Hermione!" he sighed, knowing the girl would mistake his misery for concern about his summer homework.

"Some one has to," she said matter-of-factly. She made herself comfortable. "Honestly, summer isn't all about Quidditch and loafing about, you know!"

Harry's hackles rose. _Is that what she really thought his summers were like_?  
"Do I look like I've been out playing Quidditch lately?" he snapped defensively. _Ron_ was always the one going on about the game – unable to accept many owls whilst at his relatives had meant that he couldn't so much as subscribe to the _Daily Prophet;_ the only way Harry even knew what happened in the sport at professional level was through Ron's excited bantering.  
He levelled a glare at the presumptuous study-junkie.  
"Do I _look_ like I've done nothing but loaf about since I got here? Don't make such broad statements, Hermione, unless you can back them the bloody hell up."

Only slightly offended by his tone – years of friendship providing the buffer of indifference – Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, the wheels in her remarkably sharp mind beginning to spin.  
"You're worried about Sirius, aren't you?" she said in a hushed tone, the know-it-all glint in her eye sparkling triumphantly when she saw by his expression that she was right.

"He's been gone for hours," he said, relieved to have someone to broach the subject with. "He didn't even say where he was going, or anything!"

"Or say goodbye…" added Hermione leadingly.

"No, he didn't, but that's hardly the point;" admitted Harry. "He could be putting himself in danger, and for what? The kid as much as said he didn't want anything to do with any of us!"

"Harry, Sirius lived in a cave and ate rats for you," said Hermione. "Even when he hardly knew you and you hadn't asked for him to come! How is this any different?"

"I appreciated it, for one," said Harry testily. "I didn't push him away…"

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment.  
"I don't think Arcturus meant anything of the sort," she said quietly. "Put yourself in his shoes, Harry… he's been raised with the knowledge that his uncle should have been the one looking after him, but that the man had not even bothered to acknowledge the letters his father had sent Siirus asking him as such. Wouldn't you be a little miffed by that?"

"Had Sirius not given me to Hagrid the night my parents died and gone after Pettigrew, I might have grown up with a godfather," said Harry lowly, the realization hitting him for the first time, making him almost relate to Arcturus' behaviour. "How is that any different?"

"Sirius gave you to Hagrid on Dumbledore's orders, and then went after Pettigrew because he didn't think there would be enough time to pull anyone else together," Hermione hypothesized. She cast Harry a shrewd look; "and I can say from personal experience that you _have_ to be able to relate to _that_."  
She took a breath.  
"Sirius gave you to Hagrid and went after Wormtail thinking that he would nail the rat and be back with you in time for breakfast… when he didn't even _open_ his brother's letters, he was making it quite clear that he didn't want anything to do with his family. Has Sirius ever made you feel that he didn't want anything to do with you?"

"No," admitted Harry begrudgingly. As usual, Hermione was making perfect sense. "But that still doesn't change the fact that he's wasting his time!"

"I don't think he is," said Hermione resolutely. "I think somewhere, deep down, there's a part of Arcturus that doesn't want to be so alone in life. Sirius just has to find it, that's all."

Harry looked at her in disbelief.

"What?" said Hermione, raising a brow at his incredulity. "Everyone needs someone, Harry... no matter what they'd rather have us believe otherwise."

Harry cast his eyes down to the textbook in front of him and shook his head slowly.  
"Are you telling me that even Snape needs someone?"

Hermione sighed.  
"_Professor_ Snape, Harry," she corrected him automatically; "and yes, even _Professor_ Snape cannot go through life without some measure of support from somewhere."

"You'll never get him admitting as such," said Harry levelly.

"That's my whole point, Harry!" said Hermione exasperatedly. "Just because someone won't admit that they need help, it doesn't mean we should give up on them!"

"This isn't going to turn into another SPEW, I hope," groaned Harry, laying his head atop his book. "I am _not_ joining a 'Slytherin Outreach Board'… even if the acronym were rather befitting of the recipients of the cause…"

"Harry!" admonished Hermione. Completely ignoring what he had implied about Slytherins, she slapped his arm lightly in protest. "It's _S.P.E.W_, not spew!"

Harry threw his head back and laughed, ever thankful for his friends and, pointedly, moments such as these where they could pull him out of his rut. Finding it difficult, then, to try and picture someone like Arcturus having such meaningful relationships with his own peers, Harry realized that Hermione was right. Nodding to his friend in understanding, not needing to clarify what he was referring to, Harry promised himself that he would support his godfather and be there for Arcturus – whether the boy welcomed it or not.

* * *

"Arcturus?"

Rising panic flooded through Sirius' veins as the boy went limp in his arms. Staggering back slightly under the dead weight, he shook the unresponsive teenager in concern.  
"Arcturus?" he repeated, looking to the old couple who were supporting the child from behind. "I think he's out cold. Help me get him down on the chaise over there and we'll revive him…"

Given the old man's recent experience at the end of Dumbledore's wand, beads of sweat were already starting to form on the Baron's brow. His elderly wife seeing this, the woman turned her attention to assisting her spouse, the pair moving aside so that the capable Auror behind them could assist Sirius in his plight. Together, the two able-bodied men hefted the boy off the ground and carried him across the hall and into the wide open reception room. Levitating the teen would have been an option, if not for the fear that he might awaken whilst hovering in mid air; something that was not a very reassuring experience to be had.

No sooner had they laid Arcturus out across the chaise, the old but sturdy piece of furniture not quite long enough to accommodate the boy's long legs, and Sirius drawn his wand to cast the necessary '_Ennervate_', did an urgent voice from the doorway urge them otherwise.  
"Do not use magic on the boy!" Albus Dumbledore warned before Sirius could cast the spell, sounding remarkably out of breath though his physical appearance had not diminished at all.

He swept into the room, raw power emanating off in waves. Approaching the prone boy, he placed a comforting hand on Sirius' shoulder.  
"What are his vitals?" he asked quietly.

"He passed out, I think," said Sirius with a frown, eyes scrutinizing the slumbering teen for signs of distress. "It just looks like he's sleeping…" he whirled on the headmaster and narrowed his eyes in concern. "Why can't we cast magic on him? Albus, what have we just done?"

Taking in the fugitive's tired tone and slumped posture, Albus Dumbledore turned his attention to the wizard who had removed the Curse from the boy.  
"Sirius, my boy," he said with sudden urgency. "How are _you_ feeling?"

Sirius blinked a few times in astonishment, surprised at having been asked. Reflecting inwardly for a moment, he frowned at the answers he found.  
"Like I've been hit by two Bludgers at once," he responded honestly, from distant experience. He screwed his face up in confusion, unable to account for this sudden feeling of unease. "Albus, I don't know why I am feeling this way all of a sudden… the only thing that felt out of joint during the casting was where I was holding that blasted crystal; I think it burned me."

"Let me see," said Dumbledore, a withered hand shooting out with preternatural dexterity for his age and grasping the wrist of his former student's non-wand hand, twisting it gently to face palm upwards.

Seeing his palm for the first time since grasping the precious stone that had lain around his nephew's neck, Sirius gasped at the sight that now welcomed him. It was mirrored by that of three others; the only sign of shock the headmaster gave away being a slight adjustment in the grip he had on the younger wizard's arm.  
"I had not foreseen this," said Dumbledore in self-incrimination, a grave expression clouding his features. He looked over at their audience imploringly. "Kingsley, draw Sirius up a chair – Sirius, you look like you need to sit down."

Helping to ease the shaky, but compliant, wizard down on a chair Kingsley had provided next to the chaise the man's nephew lay unconscious upon, he turned to the former lady of the house.  
"Elena, if you could revisit that stock of Potions your family has kept on the premises in ready-stasis, do you suppose you could find an all-purpose burn salve and another vial of Pepper Up?" he asked the woman, a slight twinkle returning to his eyes at her quick nod.

"I'll see what I can find, Albus," said the woman worriedly, looking somewhat remiss at the fact that they had thought to fetch potions to help her husband in the wake of his run in with Dumbledore's wand, but had neglected to anticipate the effect the unknown magic would have on her grandson and his uncle.

"Kingsley, if you would again accompany the Lady?" said Dumbledore politely, smiling in acquiescence as the Auror bustled to comply, his longer legs allowing him to pass the woman and hold open a door at the far end of the room for her.

"It's… it's just a burn, right?" said Sirius once the pair had left, bound for another search of the manor's lower-most catacombs, where the Potions were apparently kept. He tried to shrug off his wounds as an easy-fix situation even though he had an overriding feeling in his gut that it was something more.

"No," said Albus with a sigh, recognizing the aura the distinctly Dark magic had left around the man's hand; it being something of a calibre he had only ever seen once before, upon the forehead of a fifteen-month-old infant. "The crystal has left her mark upon you. It is a Curse Scar."

The added inflection the headmaster had leant to his voice when saying the words 'Curse Scar' told Sirius all he needed to know.  
"Like… like Harry?" the stunned Animagus swallowed dryly, eyes wide with surprise.

"I do not know the full extent of details, but the magic is intrinsically the same," said Albus gravely. He reached out and rested a weary hand upon the man's shoulder, silently beckoning the younger wizard's utmost attention. "Sirius, it is entirely possible – I strongly suspect – that an unforeseeable consequence to this action has seen part of Arcturus' bond with Esmerelda Bane transferred unto you."

"Only part, Albus?" said Sirius, eyes flicking to the unconscious boy in concern.

"The boy is clear of her influence, that I can be sure of," the wise old headmaster assured his former pupil. Gesturing towards the angry red burn on the stunned wizard's hand, he made his meaning clear. "This Curse on you, Sirius; I have no accurate means of anticipating its effect. You withstood the Dementors for twelve years, so I am hopefull of your ability to dissuade her persuasions; but I must warn you that Lady Bane will not let your nephew go without a fight."

Sirius felt his mouth go dry.  
"You think… you think she will try to use me against him? Use me to bring him back to her?" he blanched, his wide grey eyes landing on his late brother's father-in-law; the foreboding Baron now shaking his head mirthlessly.

"It is most poetic in its malice, wouldn't you say?" the elder wizard mused mirthlessly. "Turning the one who removes the bond into an agent of her will."  
He gave Sirius a level look.  
"You had want to hope your will is stronger, boy. For all our sakes."

Sirius was shaking uncontrollably, the man wrought with the paralysing fear that he might become a danger to others, against his will. Voicing his fears, the Cursed wizard was not comforted by the awkward looks he got in return.  
"It is quite possible," said Dumbledore gravely. "Wards will protect you to a certain extent, but until we are better able to assess the long term implications of this situation I dare say I needn't say what needs to be done…"

"I cannot leave a warded house," said Sirius, defeated.

"I am sorry, dear boy," said Dumbledore apologetically, squeezing the distraught man's shoulder in support. "I am certain that with the resources of some of the oldest libraries in the known world at our disposal, the answers we seek will come swift and timely…"

"There's no telling what the boy has picked up from his years spent under her thumb," the Baron pointed out in a seemingly uncharacteristic show of support. "Let us not count our eggs before they hatch."

Albus Dumbledore looked at his old friend with thinly veiled amusement, chuckling at the man's misnomer.  
"Ivan, my dear friend, I daresay you were referring to counting _chickens_ before they hatched…" he said lightly.

Ivan von Astor looked scandalized.  
"Counting chickens before they hatched? Now why would anyone want to do that?" he said, the limits of his comprehension of the English language – specifically its culture – letting itself be known.

"Ah, then I recant," said Albus merrily, re-evaluating what his old friend had been trying to say. "Might I infer, then, that you were suggesting that we 'cross the bridge when we come to it'?"

"Bridge?" said Ivan with a frown. "What bridges must we cross? You are one Sherbert Lemon short of rotting your brain, I fear."

Despite the dire situation he found himself in, and the uncertain prognosis of the boy who lay unconscious by his side, Sirius laughed. All were unaware of the beginning signs of the boy's stirring, or the unexpected arrival of a young wizard in the entrance way; the sturdily-built visitor dressed in formal Quidditch livery, a dragon-hide cloak draped over the arm that was not hefting a finely crafted trunk with apparent ease.  
"Arcturus, I do bring your things," said Viktor Krum, too preoccupied with setting down the trunk he had offered to mind for the younger boy at the end of their last school term together to notice the company he now found himself in.

When his greeting brought nothing but stunned silence, he looked up in search of his young friend. The change that came over him upon sight of the boy's prone form was instantaneous in its intensity, the Triwizard Champion forgetting his burden and drawing his wand protectively. Recognising the headmaster of the school that had hosted his school's contingent that previous year, the curse died on his lips and he shook his head, muttering something in unintelligible Bulgarian.  
"Headmaster Dumbledore," he said formally, recovering his composure at the peculiar sight. Eagle-like eyes darted from the figure that commanded his respect to the unconscious form of his unlikely friend. He had not forgotten the night of the third task, and the Unforgivable he had succumbed to. While no lasting harm had been inflicted upon his French competitor, that he had failed to shake off the Imperius Curse and endangered others had wounded his pride and disgraced his school. Inwardly, such failure was even harder to come to terms with in light of the incredulity with which he and his Durmstrang brothers had regarded their Host Headmaster, and the ways in which he ran the school they had visited.

"Mr Krum!" said Dumbledore in honest surprise. "I must say, this is an unexpected surprise-"

The look on Krum's face informed the adults in the room that he was just as surprised as they.  
"I come for Arcturus," said Krum uncomfortably. "The Blood Bond, it did call him here? But then where is his cousin? Is the boy safe?"

"You know about the Blood Bond with Gunther?" said Baron von Astor in surprise.

"It is I who helped enact it," said Krum with a regretful frown.

Unwilling, then, to give anything else away without knowing who he was dealing with, he demanded introduction. The headmaster dispensing with the honours, all were quite unprepared for the hardened look that set on Krum's face at the revelation. Ignoring the older of the unfamiliar wizards entirely, the proud Quidditch champion crossed the room purposefully, making a beeline for Sirius.  
"Master Black, it is my pleasure, sir," said Viktor, bestowing upon Sirius the formality his position as head of the family commanded in certain circles. "Arcturus tells me promising things of your meeting, but nothing of any such progress with those of his mother's kin."

Ignoring the veiled question inquiring after the older man's presence, Sirius blinked in surprise.  
"Arcturus speaks… _well_… of me?" he asked, flabbergasted. "He's been with you, then?"

"Speaks well of you?" said Krum, thinking carefully before responding in that which was not his native tongue. "I would not say that. There is promise, yes. Arcturus has it his eyes when he speaks of you… but he hides it very well."

"Then why did he run away from me?" whispered Sirius, confused. He had not thought he'd made that much of a 'promising' impression upon his nephew at all.

"Without family he has gone for so long, accustomed to making time for them he is not," said Viktor carefully, eyes shifting restlessly from Sirius to the still form he had come to see. "Your nephew… is he well?"

"He has suffered a shock," Dumbledore cut in before Sirius could open his mouth to reply, the crafty old wizard not giving anything away.

Looking down at the boy in question, Krum's Quidditch-honed eyes detected something different immediately.  
"He is not wearing his Token," he observed, unable to hide his surprise.

Sighing, Sirius unfurled the injured hand that he had instinctively tucked against his torso when the intruder had arrived. Holding it out, palm facing upwards, in silent explanation, he watched the wizard's expression carefully for any sign of recognition.

"You have removed the Token," said Viktor, the astonishment in his tone showing the foreign Quidditch player's understanding of the precise gravity of such an act. "You do this with Arcturus' consent?"

"Not exactly," said Sirius awkwardly, before the scheming headmaster could dispel the visitor's suspicions with a wild half-truth. The former Durmstrang student had studied alongside Arcturus for four years, and would be hard to fool.

"I thought not," said Viktor with a frown. "Has he woken yet?"

"No," said Sirius with a frown; "though you're quite welcome to stay until he does, of course…"

Krum looked torn.  
"I cannot stay, my comrades await," he said apologetically, inclining his head towards the unconscious boy as though addressing the teenager directly. "Arcturus understands this. I did come to return his cloak, he did leave in such a hurry without it…"

"And the trunk?" said Sirius, looking upon the ornately carved vessel with undisguised curiosity.

"His school things. Arcturus did leave them with me before classes end. He had discussed with me before the game that he require trunk back now at the home of his parents;" he wordlessly summoned the bulky trunk and set it down at the end of the chaise, Arcturus' too-long legs raising seemingly of their own accord and stretching out across the dark wood grain.

Stooping, then, the illusive Durmstrang alumni shook out the cloak he had been holding, draping it over the lower half of the unmoving teenager with an almost uncharacteristic moment of tenderness. Straightening up and sheathing his wand, he turned to formally regard the uncle of his friend.  
"With your pleasure I shall take my leave," he said solemnly, fisting a hand over his heart and bowing rigidly. "My regards to Arcturus. He will know I did come and can contact me if he so needs. He knows the means."

With a considerate nod towards the observing headmaster, and a contemptuous look at his friend's absentee grandfather, Viktor Krum made to take his leave. He'd taken barely a step, however, when he was struck by an idea and turned. Pulling something small and glinting from the top breast pocket in his tunic, he lowered himself upon one knee until he was level with the lying boy he had come to see and pressed the immobile object into his hand; closing the unresponsive fingers around it firmly. Leaning in close to the teen's ear, then, he muttered something secretively in fluent, but slow, Bulgarian, before standing tall once more and brushing himself off; nodding in satisfaction and sweeping off without offering an explanation.

No sooner had the formal young wizard Disapparated from the entrance hall across from them, was Sirius off his chair and crouching at his nephew's side, reaching out for the hand that reflexively clung to Viktor's parting gift.  
"Was there a Quidditch match tonight?" he asked with incredulity, looking first to Dumbledore and then the Baron for clarification.

"I believe the top eight teams are engaged in a fierce battle for the finals," said Dumbledore with a mad twinkle in his eye. "And if I recall our young guest correctly, he did mention something about there being a game earlier this evening, specifically a conversation he and Arcturus had before it began."

"Yes, that sounds right," said the boy's grandfather, the cold indifference of his voice resoundingly lacking. "Moreover, it makes sense. The boy did engage in a internship with Krum's team whilst they were in running for the World Cup last season, if I am not mistaken."

Remembering his nephew having said something to that effect, Sirius nodded in agreement, but could not help but feel curious as to the circumstances by which Ivan von Astor had become so knowledgeable about the grandson he had refused to acknowledge until now. He strongly suspected that the proudly autocratic Baron had indeed kept a close eye on his wayward heir, pride and ancient history preventing him from closing the distance that had been forged between the generations.

"Why is it that you ask, Sirius?" said Dumbledore, though all who knew him could tell by the old wizard's tone that he already knew the answer to his question.

Sirius gave up trying to uncurl his nephew's fingers from their prize and looked up at the two conscious wizards with awe written all over his features.  
"Because Krum gave the kid the bloody Snitch!"


	8. Shifting Perspectives

**Disclaimer: Nope, never going to change... still not mine!**

**Updated**: Saturday 24 March 2007  
**Edited:** Wednesday 02 January 2008

**Chapter Eight: Shifting Perspectives**

Arcturus became aware of his surroundings slowly, years of conditioning enabling him to feign continued slumber in favour of taking stock of the situation. The absence of the re-assuring weight around his neck was the foremost thing he acknowledged, feeling quite vulnerable without it after having been accustomed to wearing it for so long.

Around him, the adults spoke freely, and it took all of his resolve not to react to the news that they had leaped into this course of action without any due consideration of the consequences.  
'_Foolish Gryffindors,'_ he thought to himself, not quite knowing what to make of his uncle now bearing a cursed scar. He didn't want to be seen as owing the man anything, particularly when he had not asked for this, and he most certainly did not want to share what he had once had with Esmerelda with another wizard.

He had to get another Token.

Arcturus was in the midst of concocting ways in which he could deceive the wizards who were now his keepers, and find his way back to Esmerelda, when the arrival of his old Durmstrang mentor prompted him to prick up his ears. The keen-eyed Seeker would have, of course, been able to immediately detect his bluff, that much Arcturus knew from ample experience. It delighted him, then, to note Krum playing along with his hand, deftly snubbing his grandfather and lining his uncle's ego. Many people were quick to peg the physically strong Quidditch Champion as mindless muscle, and indeed the Bulgarian's grades were nothing spectacular, but they were ignorant to his prowess in the art of playing people.

Emboldened by the spare wand Viktor had effectively handed him on the sly when the older boy had draped his cloak over him, and encouraged by the wizard's parting words in his ear, Arcturus plotted his course. Waiting until his friend had left and the wizards watching over him were demonstrably preoccupied with speculating about the Snitch in his hand, he made his move. Their ignorance regarding the consequences of their actions played into his favour as he committed himself to regressing his behaviour to that of an impressionable five-year-old – the age he had been when he was last without a Token. No one, after all, would suspect subterfuge from an emotionally stunted preschooler.

"He's waking up!" said Sirius suddenly, his eyes detecting the first signs of movement.

The boy stretched lazily and opened his eyes slowly, stopping in his tracks when he saw his surroundings.  
"Who are you?" he asked in a small voice, apparently terrified. "Where's my grandmother? Where am I? Are you friends with Master Karkaroff?"

Sirius looked over at the older two wizards in the room, slightly baffled by the boy's behaviour.  
"Arcturus, it's me, your uh, uncle, Sirius," said Sirius awkwardly, not quite sure he was befitting of the title in the eyes of the boy just yet.

Pale eyes widened in recognition, and Sirius expelled a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He hadn't expected the teen's next words, however.  
"Is Azkaban in the forest?" he asked, wide-eyed. "Did Master Karkaroff bring me to visit you?" he nodded towards the older two wizards behind the notorious prisoner. "Are they murdering scum too? Grandmother says only murdering scum live in Azkaban. What's a murdering scum?"

Realization dawned on Albus Dumbledore's face as he chuckled good-naturedly at the child's honest questions. It was quickly becoming apparent to them all that another unforeseen consequence of their actions was one that saw the boy's mind regress to the state it had been in before Bane had begun to exert her influence.  
"You're not in Azkaban, my dear boy," said the headmaster indulgently, stepping forward to address the boy. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and we are in the home of your great-grandparents."

"My grandmother says you're a crazy old coot," said Arcturus with abandon, inwardly relishing his adopted persona... the things he could get away with!

He sat up fully and looked around enthusiastically, then frowned, appearing deflated.  
"This isn't great-grandfather Arcturus' home," he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest sulkily. Seemingly becoming aware, then, of the Snitch he still grasped in his hand, he inspected the golden ball as though seeing it for the first time. "Was I out playing Quidditch with the Durmstrang boys? Grandmother is going to be so mad at Master Karkaroff if I were; I'm not allowed on a broomstick until I lose at least three of my milk teeth. I asked Kreacher to knock them out for me before I left for the summer but Grandmother caught him tying the string to the door handle and smashed his face in with the skillet. Three of _his_ teeth fell out at that too!"

The adults exchanged mixed looks, not quite knowing how to address a teenaged boy who, for all intents and purposes, had the mental mind of a five year old.  
"Your father and I took it in turns knocking each other's teeth out," said Sirius reminiscently, remembering with a sharp pain a time when he and his brother had been rather quite tolerable of each other. "I was in the air by the time was 8… Regulus was six. How old are you now?"

"I'm _nearly_ six!" said Arcturus, his eyes lighting up for more than one reason. Not only did he thrill in hearing new things about his father, but he was ecstatic by how completely they all were buying into his act. He shot his uncle a conspiring look. "Do you think you could make it so I can fly by the time I am six too? Like my Dad?"

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, remembering that he was technically dealing with a nearly-sixteen-year-old and not its five-year-old counterpart. Whether or not the younger Arcturus had ever taken after his father and been permitted to fly at such a young age Sirius did not know; nor could he change it. Thankfully, Dumbledore saved him from responding, capturing the boy's fleeting attention.  
"I'm afraid that you weren't playing Quidditch, child," said Dumbledore gently. "You did take quite the spill though, and have been out for a little while. One of the Durmstrang boys did indeed seem to think the Snitch would make you feel better. What is the last thing you can remember before you woke up here?"

Ah, the question Arcturus was waiting for. He screwed his face up in mock concentration, adding dramatic pause as he toyed with them like putty.  
"Me and Master Karkaroff were looking for fledglings in the forest, to invite them to the school, and I had stopped to look at something and got left a bit behind…"

"Go on…" urged Sirius, seeing the boy falter nervously.

"I saw my mother," Arcturus whispered, not finding it difficult to express his awe as he tapped into the very memory that lived so close to the surface of his mind. That split second whereupon he had thought he had heard his mother's call remained, to this day, one of the most affecting memories in his life.

"Your _mother_?" said the Baron, breaking his silence with incredulity. The thought that his late daughter could be compared with someone like Esmerelda Bane made his blood curdle. "Whatever possessed you to think such a thing?"

Taken aback by the man's scornful tone, Arcturus seemed to shrink back into himself, his initial fear of responding quickly allayed by a baser urge to defend himself.  
"She called me Archie, that's why!" he said defensively; "_And_ she was nice to me, and grandmother says that only mothers could possibly be nice to wicked little boys like me."

Beckoning the dormant grandfather in the room to remain silent, Dumbledore pressed on with their questioning.  
"What did your Master Karkaroff do when he saw you with the Lady?"

"He was really mad," said Arcturus in a hushed whisper. "I think he was worried. But I don't know why, the lady was very kind; she sang to me!"

"She sang to you?" said Sirius, feeling strangely protective.

Arcturus nodded happily.  
"Did I fall asleep during her song? Is this her house, then? Can I see her again?" he asked all in a rush, his expression hopeful. "I want her to meet my grandmother. She's all mean to Master Karkaroff too; I think they would be great friends, and maybe the lady will sing to my Grandmother and make her all better… she's sick you know. Grandmother, I mean."

Sirius was torn between laughing at his nephew's irony and taking heed of the boy's wistful look. Little did he know that the boy was intentionally being ironic, his hidden teenaged mind all too aware of the double entendre of his words.

"Yes, I know my mother is very sick," he said gravely, masking his chuckle in a cough. Out of the boy's line of sight, Sirius could see the ends of Dumbledore's lips curl slightly, the man giving him a pointed look; warning him to exercise discretion lest they all lose composure. The finer points of Walburga Black's character were, after all, something of a legend.

"Is she here?" said Arcturus in a longing voice, having noted that the adults were having a much too easy time of things and that it was time to start twisting in the knife. "I promised to call every day. Do you have any Floo Powder?"

The adults exchanged awkward looks, bigger ramifications of the otherwise endearing age regression making themselves known. No one particularly knew how to explain to a five year old – one that undoubtedly still had the physical strength and magical power of one three times his age – that everything and everyone he knew was no longer with them.

* * *

The two soon-to-be fifth year Gryffindors eyed the identical pair of redheads with mounting apprehension. There had been good reason, Ginny had reminded them earlier, why none of the Weasley siblings had ever had to share lodgings with the scheming duo. It was sheer madness, she'd said as she helped her brother and his best friend move their trunks upstairs to their new bedroom, putting two under-aged wizards in the same room with the pair who had so recently been granted full license to use magic.

For her part, Molly Weasley threatened all manner of fury if the twins so much as blinked in the direction of their two new roommates, and the pair were markedly more subdued as a result. Sirius, who had uncomfortably made the request, tried to put a positive spin on the move, stating that there were many advantages to be had by having over-aged wizards in the same room. No one said anything about the incidental protection a fully-trained wizard could provide, or the immediate reason behind the shuffle.

"Who does he think he is? Parading into our lives and turning everything upside down?" Ron ranted, kicking at the foot of his bed agitatedly as he sank onto the lumpy, unfamiliar mattress. "I can't believe Sirius gave him his room back – he might be his uncle and all, but he's your _godfather_, and besides, he's known you loads longer!"

"Not by much," muttered Harry miserably. "Known of me, yes, but we're still practically strangers to each other…"

Fred, in a remarkable display of perceptiveness, slipped into 'older brother mode' and slapped a hand on the bespectacled boy's shoulder.  
"Oi, mate, I know you must wish you could spend more time with Sirius, but I wouldn't take his inattention personally;" he said levelly, giving the bony shoulder beneath his hand a tight squeeze.

George joined in.  
"We're at war, kiddies," he said, all manner of his usual brevity lacking in his tone. "The adults are going out of their mind trying to keep us lot in one piece…"

"…and believe me, it's not like _they_ don't wish they could spend more quality time with all of us," said Fred, nodding gravely. "You really think they want us growing up so quick and making a go of things on our own?"

"Yeah, mate, this is nothing new you know," added George, looking to his twin for support, who nodded. "Dad was never home during the first war, and he felt guilty about it for years afterwards, always trying to make things up to us even though we were just toddlers at the time."

"Why else do you think we got away with so much?" said Fred with a wry smile. "But yeah Harry, the point is I wouldn't worry so much about Sirius being busy. Soon as things settle he'll be falling over himself to make up for lost time."

"Yeah, c'mon Potter… a _Firebolt_ to make up for 12 years of Christmases and birthdays? Point, set and match, my friend. Sirius'll come good."

"But I don't want Sirius to feel guilty and buy me expensive things," said Harry, frowning. "I just want… oh, never mind, I suppose you're right…"

The twins exchanged a knowing look.  
"Ah, so it's _that_, then," they said in unison, lopsided grins a mirror image of the other's expression.

"You're _jealous_," sniggered Fred.

"Welcome to the club!" said George. At Harry's bewildered look, he shook his head. "What, you think with six brothers and sisters in the family we lot were never jealous of each other at one point or another?"

Harry's mouth gaped and he looked to Ron for confirmation, who only nodded in agreement with his older brothers.  
"They're right, Harry," said Ron with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks. "Mum sure did have her handful with us lot still at home once Ginny came along, being the only girl and all. It was horrible."

"Percy was the real prat," said George with a shudder. "Came right out and accused Ginny of monopolising Mum and Dad's time. Actually used those very words… on a three year old!"

"Absolutely terrified her!" said Fred with a scowl; "I daresay it was what inspired our very career choice, what do you say, Forge?"

"Most certainly," nodded George reminiscently. "I remember, too, how those first few pranks we actually got away with because Mum hadn't cottoned on yet that they all weren't coincidences…"

"But… but… Percy looked so worried about Ginny when she was in the Chamber…" said Harry, confused.

"Of course he was," said Fred. "We all were."

"Yeah, Percy may be a prat, but he's not a complete git," said George. "A little sibling rivalry is healthy enough… well, pseudo-sibling rivalry in your case, but it all comes out in the wash."

"Yeah, it'd be too exhaustive to truly hate someone you have to live with, really trying to out do them all the time," said Fred. "I'm sure once this Archie bloke gets settled in you might even get along…"

"What about Sirius and his brother?" said Harry, finding a flaw in their logic; an exception to the rule. "Sirius said his brother was always trying to get one over on him, and that they didn't get along at all…"

"So?" said George. "He's never actually come out and said that they hated each other."

"Yeah," added Fred with a vigorous nod. "Think about it. If the blood really was bad between them, then why would he bother with the guy's kid?"

"Same reason my aunt bothers with me," said Harry with a darkened look on his face; "obligation."

The twins looked to each other uncomfortably, not quite knowing how to tackle the question of Harry's aunt.  
"Your aunt's a Muggle," said Fred finally. "Families are a bit different in the wizarding world. You don't have an 'obligation' to anyone, even family, unless you swear to it in blood, and then it's not an obligation because you'll have wanted to take it on. Honestly, Harry, I thought you of all people would have known this…"

"Why would I have?" said Harry testily.

The twins exchanged another look.  
"You really have no idea what it means to have a godfather in this world, do you?" said George incredulously. He shot his youngest brother a scathing look. "Way to go, Ronald! Didn't think to tell him at all, did ya?"

"Well when he found out Sirius was his godfather, we all thought the man was out to kill him!" protested Ron. "It wasn't exactly the right time! Honestly, I thought Sirius would have explained it to him since…"

"Explained _what_?" Harry demanded. "What's the big deal about having a godparent? Doesn't everyone have them?"

"No, Harry," said Fred seriously. "That's just it, very few witches and wizards do."

"It's nothing like the Muggle traditions, at all," said George. "Well it is, but much more involved. Very few new parents can find someone they trust enough – who is then willing enough – to make the Oath."

"Oath?" said Harry. "What sort of oath?"

"An Oath written in blood, of course, haven't you been paying _any_ attention?" said Fred with a sigh. He looked to his brother. "I see we're going to have to start at the beginning here, mate."

George cleared his throat and stood, squaring his shoulders and dusting his robes off as though trying to make the transition from teenaged boy to vessel of great knowledge.  
"Well see, Harry, it's like this;" he began. "When someone agrees to be a godparent, it's really huge. Not just because they're then expected to look out for the kid if something should happen to the regular parents, but because, in effect, they really do become like an extra parent. Help me out here, Fred…"

"It's even rarer when a wizard as young as what Sirius would have been agrees to it, because there's still a chance he might have had a family of his own," said Fred reverently. "Usually, the head of a family will only become a godparent when they are too old to have children of their own."

"So, what, I have become Sirius' heir or something?" said Harry uncomfortably, having no real need for any extra material gain, thanks to the rather substantial inheritance he'd gotten from his own parents.

"More than that, Harry, you are effectively his first-born son!" said George, shaking his head at Harry's ignorance. "Even if Sirius were to have a child now, all rights and titles will pass on to you, as the first in line! The Blood Oath makes sure of it! After all, no parent would want to leave their child in the care of someone who would give him the complete brush off once the real thing came along."

"A person would really have to care about his friends, and especially their kid, to agree to do that," said Fred solemnly. "I mean, really, _really_ care. And in turn your parents would have to really trust them, as we said."

"Had Sirius not gone to Azkaban and known about his nephew, you two would have been raised like brothers," said George; "well, only if Sirius accepted the responsibility of looking after the kid. Even though he may be the guy's closest living family, he doesn't have to lift a finger if he doesn't want to. If one of the extended family didn't want to take him, all Sirius'd have to do was pack him off to some far flung family cottage somewhere with a House Elf and an allowance, or, if money was short, leave him to the Ministry. No one would have even looked at him sideways for doing it either, brother's son or no."

Harry took all of this in with varying degrees of comprehension.  
"So what you're saying, pretty much, is that I'm Sirius' son in all but blood and name, and he's more obligated to me than his own flesh and blood?" he frowned.

"There's that bloody word again," said Fred with a scowl. "Harry, you're entirely missing the point! You're Sirius' godson – his son in all but blood and name – because he _wants_ you to be! How can he be obligated to something he willfully wanted? Arcturus is his nephew, _only_ his nephew. The coincidence of their blood will only mean anything if Sirius wants it to mean something!"

"Yeah, well I think he wants it to mean something," said Harry, rubbing at his arm as though a Muggle nurse had just been at him with a needle, to draw blood. "And even if Sirius won't treat me any different because of what you said, Arcturus won't be happy…"

"Who gives a toss," said Ron, breaking his silence with a shrug. "He'll just have to get over himself."

Fred nodded.  
"Yeah, ickle Ronniekins is right," he said, leering. "But you know, I think the kid has slightly bigger things on his mind than the likes of you. Mate, you saw how he was when Sirius arrived with him…"

"Yeah, something was definitely off," said George. "Few twigs short of a broomstick he was… I really don't think Sirius asking you to switch rooms was because Arcturus was being a spoiled prat."

With that, Harry stood.

"Where are you going?" said Ron, flabbergasted. "Mum told us to stay in here until Arcturus was settled! I for one don't want to go out there and accidentally stumble across another of his booby-trapped bags!"

Harry clenched his jaw and hesitated.  
"No offence to your mother, Ron, but she can't tell me what to do," said Harry. "I'm going to see if Sirius needs any help. If I'm in the way, _he_ can tell me so!"

While Ron looked horrified with the idea of his friend going against his mother's wishes, the twins looked to the teen with a newfound respect.  
"Oh, generous benefactor _and_ a kindred spirit!" exalted George, bowing reverently.

"Best of luck avoiding our mother's wrath, ickle honorary brother of ours," said Fred, mirroring his twins' actions.

Harry felt chuffed at the twins' sentiment. The whole family, he knew, had always made him feel welcome, but to hear himself regarded as such really was, well, an honour. Blushing and telling them as such, the twins turned serious once more, each of them standing before him and placing a hand on one of his shoulders.  
"It's true though," said Fred. "Soon as you make Mum's Christmas Knitting List, and then actually _wear_ your jumper, you're an honorary Weasley."

"And _that_, all nine of us would gladly decree in blood," added George; "so that you wouldn't think we were merely _obligated_."

"Even Percy, then?" said Harry with a touch of disbelief.

"If the cause is worthy enough, the rest of us ganging up on the straggler can be quite persuasive," said Fred with a smug smile as he cracked his knuckles. "So yeah, on that note, let us know if you need any 'moral support' in dealing with Arcturus. Bill and Charlie alone can be scary enough…"

George cut in enthusiastically.  
"And you know _they've_ been trying to schedule a 'sibling meeting' with Percy for weeks now, for making Mum upset. All we'd have to do, mate, is add you to the agenda," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'm sure they'll think nothing of sorting Arcturus out if he gives you a hard time. We Weasleys look out for our own, don't forget!"

Harry dreaded to think what a Curse Breaker and Dragon Handler would do to 'sort someone out'. A strange, contented warmth filling his heart, he smiled; finally beginning to understand what it was like to have true family.  
"Thanks guys," he said, feeling in much better spirits. "That really means a lot… really."

"Yeah, well, Weasley men don't do mushy," said George quickly, backing away. "We leave Mum to all that coddling stuff. Speaking of which, you'd better get a leg on if you want to make the most of that brilliant little loophole you found…"

In light of all the support the Weasleys had just given him, Harry felt guilty for even thinking of going over the head of the Weasley matriarch. He paused in the doorway and shuffled his feet awkwardly. Sensing his hesitation, Fred threw a pillow at him.  
"Just go!" he said with a laugh. "You don't think George and I ever challenged Mum's authority? Harry, mate, that's half the fun of being a teenager! She's not going to think any differently of you, really…"

"If anything, she'll be chuffed that you felt comfortable enough to test your boundaries," said George encouragingly. Ron still looked sick to the stomach at the thought.

Encouraged by the twins' logic, Harry reminded himself of his earlier resolve – that his actual guardian hadn't ordered him away – and he hastened to help the man settle Arcturus back in.

* * *

Sirius was pacing the room worriedly when he heard the door crack open. In order to best explain the situation to his nephew, they had taken the bold step of giving it to the kid straight, and surprisingly, the child was taking it well. But of course Sirius knew what it meant to be a Black, having an uncomfortable feeling that the boy was putting on a mask, and so he paced the room wearily, not letting the boy out of his sight.

Arcturus, meanwhile, was seated at a desk under the window, quietly colouring and seemingly oblivious to his uncle's presence. When the door opened, however, he had spun in his chair and sought out the unexpected guest, reacting before Sirius had the chance to acknowledge his godson's entrance.  
"Who're you?" asked Arcturus suspiciously, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest in protest. "I don't know you, and I don't like people I don't know in my bedroom!"

"Uh… er…" Harry was shocked by the older boy's incognisance, and he sought Sirius' help.

Like a flash, the wrought Animagus was by Harry's side, grabbing him gently by the arm and leaning down to whisper in his ear.  
"Roll with me," he whispered out of the side of his mouth, his lips barely moving. Pulling away, he shifted his hold on Harry's arm and guiding him towards the strange teenager. "Arcturus, this is Harry, you met him when you were older. Harry, this is Arcturus; he's going to be six just before Christmas."

Harry's mouth fell open into a small 'o', and he blinked in surprise. Recovering quickly, he accepted the sweaty hand the boy before him offered, noting with stunned awe that the physically older boy had colouring chalk all over his hands and robes; much like a preschooler might.  
"Uh, nice to meet you Arcturus," said Harry numbly, looking to Sirius for his next cue.

"Harry's going to wait for me in my room now," said Sirius leadingly, giving his godson a sidelong wink. "I have to _explain _to him that it is not very polite to enter rooms without knocking."

Genuinely contrite, Harry rushed to apologise.  
"I'm sorry!" he blurted, his cheeks flushing.

"My room, Harry," said Sirius, pointing towards the door agitatedly. "I do not wish to _explain things to_ you in front of my nephew!"

Stuttering nervously, Harry rushed to comply, his insecure mind beginning to question where Sirius' act and reality began. _Was he really in trouble_?

Exiting the room no sooner than two minutes after he had arrived, Harry bustled towards the stairwell that would lead him up to his godfather's bedroom. He was halfway up the narrow staircase when he was cut off by an irate Molly Weasley.  
"Harry Potter! What are you doing out of your room? You haven't been hindering Arcturus after I told you not to, have you?" she shrieked, the hands on her hips effectively blocking his path forward.

Not quite sure how much of Sirius' exhibited ire he should take seriously, Harry didn't know how best to answer the woman. He decided to start with what he did know.  
"I went to see if Sirius needed help," said Harry thumbing over his shoulder in the direction he had just come from.

"And he sent you away! Why do you think I told to remain in your bedroom?"

"Because Arcturus is acting like a _five year old_ and doesn't know who any of us are?" said Harry challengingly.

"Precisely! Now you've gone and undoubtedly terrified the boy, barging into his bedroom like that!" said Molly, disappointed in his failure to heed her earlier warning. "Why did you disobey me?"

"I wanted to see if _my godfather_ needed my help!" said Harry defensively. "After all, _he_ never told me it wouldn't be welcomed…"

Molly Weasley pursed her lips into a firm line, reading between the lines.  
"And did it not occur to you that I was acting on your godfather's behalf, asking you to stay away as I did?" she asked archly. She shook her head sadly; sympathetic towards the boy whom she could tell wanted so badly to spend time with his godfather, only to be continuously brushed aside. She knew Sirius had not asked her specifically to keep Harry away, but she had thought she was doing him a favour by saving him from that awkward position. "I suppose you're going back to your room now that you've heard it from him, then?"

"No, actually, I'm to meet Sirius in his room," said Harry, feeling a little surge of self-importance. "He said he was going to explain everything."

Her ire now directed towards someone else, Molly Weasley pursed her lips even tighter and stared off into the distance.  
"You really shouldn't encourage him, Harry," she said finally, choosing her words very carefully. "There are just certain things you cannot be told, and I don't think Sirius quite understands that."

Reeling back, Harry glared at the woman as though she had just grown an extra head.  
"With all due respect Mrs Weasley, don't you think it should be my _godfather_ who decides what I am to be told?" he challenged.

"Under normal circumstances, of course," she said quickly. "But Harry, you have to understand, your godfather is a special case. I know you think he's all right, but there's just no telling what Azkaban has done to him… and you've had to of noticed how he compares you to your father. We're just all a little concerned that he sees you more as the incarnate of the best friend he never got the chance to grieve for, instead of the godson he vowed to be responsible for."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't readily dispute the woman's concerns. He'd seen how his friends' parents were with their children and could not deny that the relationship that was forming between he and Sirius was more akin to friendship than conventional guardian and child. But then again, their circumstances were completely different, Sirius stepping into the role of guardian at a time when he was more or less already self-sufficient. Perhaps the formative years they had missed precluded them from forming a true father-son like relationship.  
"He's only trying to let me know what my parents were like, though," he said defensively, not wanting to believe that Sirius only saw him as his father's son. "I mean, it's not like he's ever called by my dad's name by mistake or anything! You're really not giving him enough credit; he knows exactly what I need and would be doing a damn fine job of being a godfather if people just stopped underestimating him and telling him what to do!"

"Harry, that's enough," said Sirius, a heavy hand landing on his godson's shoulder from behind. "Apologise to Mrs Weasley for taking that tone with her."

Shaken by his godfather's sudden presence behind him, Harry rushed to apologise.  
"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said, blushing. Twisting his head around to look at his godfather, he tried to explain. "Sirius, I was just on my way to your room as you said, but…"

"But nothing, you should have come and gotten me if you needed to account for your movements," he said firmly. "Molly, if you would excuse us, Harry and I need to have a little chat."

Molly Weasley was flabbergasted. Even before she had witnessed Sirius act like a rather responsible parent, she had been unable to escape the truth in the boy's words. Seeing Harry as one of her own, she couldn't help trying to watch out for him and inject her opinion where she felt it was needed. She and Sirius were always at loggerheads, the soft-hearted woman wanting to keep Harry an innocent child a little while longer, whilst Sirius fought to prepare the boy; often becoming abrasive at her persistent interference. She knew how she would feel if anyone had ever tried to tell her how to raise her children, and so knew deep down that she was being a little hypocritical, but her concern about the effects Azkaban had had on the man held her firm; it was a concern shared by many, after all.  
"I'll leave you to it, then," she said, but not without giving the man a pointed look that said '_don't tell him too much!_'

* * *

Leading the way into Sirius' bedroom, the man ushering him over the threshold with a gentle hand between his shoulder blades, Harry whirled on the man the minute the door closed behind them.  
"I'm sorry, Sirius! I really didn't mean to be rude to Mrs Weasley… but to be fair she was being a little rude about you…"

"Harry, don't worry about it," said Sirius, shaking his head slightly as he looked around the room and ensured it was secure from prying ears – the Weasley twins being notorious for them, after all. He sidled up next to the confused teen and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Look, between you and me, I'm chuffed that you felt compelled to stand up for me, and I thank you for it…" he shifted his position and scooted down slightly, so as to look the boy directly in the eye. He wasn't joking around now. "But I can fight my own battles. While I can appreciate where it was coming from, it doesn't look good for me if my kid mouths off to his superiors."

Touched by being referred to as 'his kid', Harry felt his confidence boosted, and he smiled.  
"So in other words, toe the line and leave all the fun to you?" he said astutely, one eyebrow raised.

Barking out a laugh, Sirius clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.  
"Well it doesn't quite sound very fair when you put it like _that_…" he whined, making it clear that he did not like the role of ogre-ish disciplinarian one bit. He ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. "We'll make a Marauder of you yet, kiddo…"

Jerking his head away when Sirius' gentle ruffle quickly turned into a knuckling and potential headlock, Harry shoved at the man playfully and shook his head.  
"Just when I think I'm right in defending your godfather-abilities, you have to go prove them right!" he teased.

"Would you rather I transfigure your wand into a switch and tan your behind for your insubordination?" said Sirius levelly, giving nothing away.

Harry blanched, and he backed away slightly.  
"You… you _wouldn't_!" he squeaked, eyes wide with humiliation. While his aunt and uncle had never really turned to corporal punishment with either himself or his cousin, he knew it wasn't entirely unheard of in the Muggle world, and with very little experience with a magical guardian, anything was possible…

Sirius' face darkened slightly.  
"Of course not!" he said, leaving no question as to his sincerity. "The look on your face, though…" he paused, eyes narrowing in concern as a thought occurred to him. He squeezed the boy's shoulder tightly, as his began to clench his teeth in pre-emptive rage. "Harry, those Muggles… they didn't…"

Now it was Harry's turn to turn serious.  
"Of course not!" he mirrored his godfather's words, shaking his head furiously for good measure. Remembering then, what he had been asked to wait in his godfather's room for, he averted his gaze. "Sirius, about before… I really should have knocked, I'm sorry."

"Huh?" said Sirius, clearly forgetting the earlier guise he had put on for his nephew's benefit. Remembering, then, he nodded slowly in understanding. "Oh, that… oh Harry, don't worry about it. You're used to that being your room, of course you're going to forget to knock!"

Feeling as though a weight had been lifted, Harry relaxed slightly, and complied when Sirius gestured that he sit on the end of the man's bed. Watching, then, as the man made himself comfortable, leaning against the bureau that sat opposite the bed, he waited for the man to begin his explanation.

"I know the only thing History of Magic is good for is catching up on sleep," he began with a reminiscent smile; "but perhaps this caught your attention. What do you know of the vampire witch, Esmerelda Bane?"

* * *

No sooner had Sirius closed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Arcturus alone with a bath full of bubbles and clean change of clothes – the man having drawn the line at bathing a supposed five-year-old who was trapped in a nearly sixteen-year-old's body – Arcturus took action. Retrieving the spare wand he'd pilfered from his cloak earlier, he cast a Cleaning Charm on himself and, after extracting the correspondence he had covertly worked on in his uncle's presence from a hidden pocket, magically exchanged his soiled robes for the clean set his uncle had 'helped him' pick out. Making sure, then, that he appeared – and smelt – like a boy who had just climbed out of the bathtub, he drained the water and banished his dirty clothes to the hamper.

One hand on the doorknob, he listened intently for signs of movement outside the room before turning the latch and letting himself out into the hall, silently closing the door behind him. Sticking to the shadows, he carved a path towards the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a late breakfast and sending off his game plan for the Bulgarian team's next round in the play-offs. Blessedly, the kitchen was deserted at such an hour, the occupants of the house having sat down to their breakfast before Arcturus' arrival. Lighting the assorted candles and lamps in the room with a simple wave of his hand, he proceeded to make his way around the familiar territory; summoning jars and bread whilst he set a place for himself at the table.

Munching contentedly on the crusts of his simple jam sandwich, Arcturus Spelled the brightly coloured chalk strokes from the parchment before him, revealing the simple ink outline of a game strategy underneath. Transfiguring his butter knife into a quill, and the jam jar into an inkpot, he dipped the nib into the somewhat syrupy, raspberry coloured substance and penned a quick explanation to Viktor. Once done, he folded the parchment in half and sealed it with wax from the candle closest to him, using his insignia ring. Careful to destroy evidence of his penmanship – changing the quill and suspiciously sweet-smelling ink back into their respective original forms – Arcturus hurried to the window and whistled for his owl, whom he knew had made a nest in the nearby square.  
"Take this to the team," he whispered to the inconspicuous tawny owl, stroking its plume reverently. "Stay with Viktor until he sends you back; he'll know when."

Once done with tying the letter to the bird's talon, he gave the patient bird what was left of his bread and licked his fingers.  
"Just as I thought," he admonished himself – or rather, his Transfiguration skills; "raspberry ink…"

The bird was just about to hop off the window when the kitchen door swung open, revealing a dark-robed man with lanky black hair and a white mask about his neck. Seeing the Death Eater garb, Arcturus' reaction was instinctive, the boy oblivious to the recognisable features of the intruding man's face.  
"Stupefy!" he yelled, all pretences of being a child trapped in a young man's body thrown out the window as he rushed to defend his life. No sooner had the curse left his lips did he realise who his company was, and he leered at the man, a plan quickly forming in his mind.

"What are you doing in here?" Snape snapped, feeling slightly bashful in his current attire and indignant at having spells thrown at him upon entry.

"My grandmother taught me about _people like you_!" said Arcturus petulantly, in a childish voice. He jabbed his wand at the man threateningly. "She's teaching me spells! I knocked Kreacher out for a whole day last week!"

Severus Snape stared at the strange teenager critically, a slight movement of his wand and wordless casting directing a silent Legilimens towards the boy. Unprepared for the lack of resistance he faced, the spy was further surprised by the content of the memories he found on the surface of the teen's mind. Under normal circumstances, the experienced Legilimens would have assumed that the consistent theme of early childhood memories formed the foundation of a deceptive Occlumency shield, but the boy's composure seemed to lend to the conclusion that there was _no _other thoughts in the young Black's mind.

Narrowing his eyes in consideration, he tucked his Death Eater mask out of sight and folded his arms across his chest, wand nestled in the crook of his arm.  
"What were you doing at the window, boy?" he asked in his most intimidating tone. How the boy reacted would predicate how Severus believed the apparent situation at hand.

Mirroring his pose, Arcturus frowned.  
"Who are you?" he demanded answers. "I don't know _you_. You can't tell me what to do!"

Playing along for the time being, his opinion inconclusive, Severus offered a terse introduction.  
"My name is Severus Snape," he said. "I am your mother's cousin."

Flinching at the inference, Arcturus recovered quickly.  
"My grandmother says I have no family on my mother's side," he said challengingly. "Why are you here?"

"I said I was your mother's cousin. That does not make us family," said Severus coolly, correcting the boy. "It does not concern you why I am here."

"Then I will not let you pass!" said Arcturus, scrambling to block the path from the back door to the door leading to the stairwell. "This is my grandmother's house!"

"Out of my way, you foolish boy," said Severus, barely batting an eyelid at the teen's drawn wand. "If you truly have the mind of an infant, I've nothing to fear from the tip of your wand."

"I'm not an infant! I'm almost _six_!" shouted Arcturus, really getting into his role. To himself, he leered dangerously; '_and by the age of six I knew more spells than you could possibly foresee…'_

Arrogantly taking a step forward, Severus was unprepared for the boy's cutting hex, and he stumbled back, barely able to erect a shield. Defensive now - and just a little bit suspicious of the boy's behaviour – Severus trained his wand on the teen in warning.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Snape?" Sirius Black had his wand drawn on his childhood nemesis in an instant, walking in the room in search of his nephew and stunned to find him in an armed stand-off with Severus Snape.

"The boy challenged me!" said Severus defensively, lowering his wand, but not sheathing it. "He would not let me pass!"

"Well seeing you dressed like that I am surprised by his constraint!" said Sirius, looking up and down the man's garb with distaste. "Arcturus, what are you doing down here alone? Didn't I tell you that I would bring you some food after your bath?"

Arcturus opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a paranoid Snape.  
"I'll tell you what your deceiving _little _nephew was doing, Black! He was sending an owl!" he said, pointing towards the window. "It was just taking off when I walked in!"

Sirius looked towards the open window and then at his nephew, wanting to hear the boy's side of the story.  
"Is that true, Arcturus? Did an owl come to the window?"

"I didn't want the rest of my sandwich, so I gave it to an owl," said Arcturus, bending the truth by omission. "I had raspberry jam on my bread. Do you like raspberry jam?"

Heartened by the boy's endearing openness, Sirius smiled encouragingly at the boy.  
"I'm rather impartial to plum myself, but your dad liked his raspberry if I am not mistaken…"

"Really?" said Arcturus with youthful enthusiasm. "Raspberry is loads better than plum – even owls like it better!"

Severus had seen and heard enough, recognising the boy's attempt to steer the conversation away from his activities.  
"Oh enough!" he protested; "can you not see what the boy is doing? He is fooling you all!"

"What is this man doing in my grandmother's house? He's a _Death Eater_! I saw his mask!" said Arcturus in a hushed tone, seeking his uncle's confidence. "I don't want him here any more."

"Snape has some business with Professor Dumbledore, you won't have to see him;" assured Sirius. Glaring at the reticent Potions Master, he inclined his head towards the door. "He was just leaving, weren't you, Snape?"

"You're a fool, Black. The boy is playing you. He sent an owl. I saw a letter attached to its talon;" said Snape, glaring at the taller man dangerously as he edged around the pair. "Why would I lie?"

"Because you're a mean, smelly old man with a big nose and don't like me!" suggested Arcturus, his brow raised.

Severus closed the distance between them in a flash, his expression somewhat less intimidating when he realised that he stood eye-to-eye with the boy. Leaning in close before the elder Black could step in, he snarled at the rude boy.  
"You're right, I have no time for deceiving little brats who act like five year olds and lust after Dark vixens;" he hissed, dark eyes glinting as he could see, just slightly, his words hit a nerve.

"Back the hell off, Snape, before I Transfigure you into a jar of Bobotuber Puss!" threatened Sirius, shoving the man away from his nephew with the hand that was not stabbing a wand at the Slytherin. "You're already a slimy wanker, it won't take much…"

Severus stepped away and looked between man and child coolly.  
"I need not guess where the boy gets his cues from, then," he said cryptically, wrapping his cloak around himself securely, like a bat would its wings before slumber. Without another word, he brushed past the pair and took off up the stairs, his cloak sweeping around him menacingly.

"You should have Transfigured him into a bat," observed Arcturus. "They are far more useful than a jar of puss."

"You know a lot for a five year old," said Sirius quickly, voicing his dawning suspicion before he was even consciously aware of doing so. As much as he hated to admit it, Snape really didn't have a reason to lie about the owl.

"I'm almost six," Arcturus pointed out, unfazed as he set about making himself another sandwich. Gesturing with a piece of bread in his hand, he looked at his uncle expectantly. "If you want plum, you'll have to fetch it from the pantry…"

Making his decision carefully, Sirius shook his head at his nephew's offer and perched himself on the edge of the table; the proximity to the boy causing him to look up.  
"Arcturus, did you give a letter to that owl?" he asked levelly, trying not to make an accusation.

Arcturus regarded his uncle for a moment before making his decision.  
"Yes," he said simply, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Sirius jolted in surprise, almost losing his footing.  
"Why didn't you say so earlier?" he said in astonishment, feeling slightly put out that Snape had been right.

"You didn't ask," shrugged Arcturus.

"Yes I did!" spluttered Sirius.

"No, you didn't," corrected Arcturus. "You asked me if an owl came to the window. I said one did, and that I fed it some of my bread."

"But you called Snape a liar!"

"No I didn't. He wanted to know why we _thought_ he would lie, and I told him," said Arcturus with a decisive nod. Pulling a face, he looked up at his uncle pleadingly. "You're not going to make me apologise to him, are you? He's a Death Eater!"

Seeing humour in his nephew's selective deception, Sirius chuckled and, having made a rule long ago never to apologise to a Snape, shook his head.  
"No, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction," he admitted conspiringly. "But I will reconsider if you don't tell me who you were sending owls to… what owl did you use anyway?"

"Mine," said Arcturus. He'd been seven when he'd gotten his first owl, but his uncle didn't need to know that.

Sirius searched the boy's face for signs of deception and then nodded.

"Who were you Owling?" he pushed.

"My grandmother!" Arcturus blurted, forcing tears to his eyes. "She can't be dead like you said, I only saw her last week!"

Sirius sighed; they'd been up until the small hours trying to convince the stubborn boy of all that had transpired since the time of his last acknowledged memory, and they'd all had very little sleep. Rubbing a weary hand across the itchy stubble forming on his face, he shook his head.  
"Arcturus… we've already been through all this," he said tiredly. "Now why would _I_ lie?"

Arcturus the nearly sixteen-year-old couldn't come up with a response any better than the five-year-old mask he hid behind.  
"I don't know," he admitted with a frown. Looking out the window, he sighed. "Grandmother really would have liked that picture, though…"

"You sent her one of those pictures you were drawing earlier?" said Sirius conversationally. At the boy's forlorn nod, he sought to cheer the child up. "Say, my walls are looking pretty drab, y'know…"

"You want me to draw you a picture?" said Arcturus, part of his teenaged incredulity sneaking through. Even when he had been five he'd not inflicted his childish scrawls to anyone… his grandmother and those carers who came after her hardly being of the sort to want to proudly indulge the artistic whims of a small child.

"I tell you what," said Sirius, crossing his arms across his chest decisively. "How about we draw pictures for each other? And maybe Harry and the others can join in… this place sure can use the cheering up, what do you say?"

'_The Headquarters of the Resistance decorated wall-to-wall with children's drawings?'_ Arcturus mused to himself; '_and you expect your enemy to take you seriously?'_

Outwardly, the boy kept mum.

"Well?" asked Sirius, nudging the boy with an almost juvenile enthusiasm to get started.

Hesitantly, Arcturus nodded.  
"But I don't want to draw with all the other children," he lay down his conditions as his uncle gestured for them to leave the kitchen. "Only Harry. I don't like those people with red hair. They're too loud."

Laughing heartily, Sirius held the door open for his nephew and nodded.  
"Yes, well I do suppose you're used to it being quiet around here…" he mused.

Arcturus looked at him as though he had grown an extra head. Between his grandmother's insanity in the months prior to her death and the nagging screech of both his Great-Aunt Lucretia and Kreacher life was seldom quiet in the Noble House of Black. Azkaban must surely have addled the man's memory… but he said nothing.

* * *

Arcturus spent most of the afternoon covertly studying Harry as the two dark-haired boys sprawled on the floor, sketching on parchment. Truth be told, the deceptive young Black had no time for people like the Weasleys, but when it came to the Boy-Who-Lived, Arcturus could not help but feel a little intrigued. His surprise at the boy's unassuming stature and crude comments about the expectation society had placed upon him were still warranted, in his opinion, but as the Gryffindor happily complied with his uncle's strange request to draw pictures with him, he became enthralled by the innately innocent side of Harry Potter. How could one boy, who had lost his parents and taken down a Dark Lord as an infant, grow up to destroy Horcruxes, kill Basilisks, defeat Trolls and be a Triwizard champion; all without losing his distinctly childish awe?

From a young age, Arcturus himself had been raised with the knowledge of his own parents' ends at the hand of the Dark Lord and all he could ever remember wanting was to avenge them. He'd never had time for trivial children's games, his current occupation with them as part of his cover as dull and boring as it had been when he really was five, and yet whilst equally erred by Voldemort his choice of playmate apparently found time for fun. The Harry Potter that was now before him did not look capable of saving Philosopher Stones or freeing Magical Creatures condemned to death. Oblivious to the silent scrutiny, Harry remained completely focused on colouring between the lines, a sliver of tongue peeking out between his lips in concentration.

Registering the enraptured look on the bespectacled teen's face, Arcturus could not help but comment.  
"You look as though you have never coloured in before," he said, the words escaping him before he could remind himself of his cover.

Startled, Harry glanced up from his papers and considered the teen who was supposed to be plagued with the mind of a five year old.  
"It's been a while," Harry admitted, indulging the observation of the inquisitive 'child'. "Growing up, I was only ever permitted to draw in class, and then my work was never actually put up on display…"

Understanding dawned in Arcturus' eyes; Harry was compelled to comply with Sirius' casual suggestion that they wallpaper the walls of Grimmauld Place with childish art because no one had wanted it of him before. Seeing also, how eager the boy was to strike up an amicable bond between them – perceived age difference or otherwise – Arcturus decided to play it to his advantage.  
"Harry," he whispered secretively, leaning in close. "Can you keep a secret?"

"You want to tell me a secret, Arcturus?" Harry looked at him in disbelief, the child-like sincerity in his companion's voice appearing out of place with the mature face that now gazed at him intently. Reading nothing from the boy's expression, Harry shrugged slowly. "Sure, you can tell me a secret… I'll keep it."

"Wizard's Oath?" Arcturus pressed on, holding out a hand expectantly.

"Wizard's Oath," vowed Harry, shaking the offered hand lightly. "Now, what do you want to tell me?"

"I'm not really five," said Arcturus sombrely, carefully noting Harry's reaction. "I just act that way because my uncle took away the crystal that had been 'controlling my mind'."

If Harry noticed the confiding boy's sarcasm at that last bit, he didn't show it; instead, he nodded understandingly. Arcturus knew that Harry had probably been informed about what he himself had been told, and it was clear from the Boy-Who-Lived's subdued reaction now that the teen had taken his admission at face value. His words only served to confirm Arcturus' suspicions.  
"You'll get your memory back, don't worry," assured Harry.

"I never said anything about losing my memory," said Arcturus shrewdly, giving his opponent a calculating look.

To his credit, Harry did a double take.  
"Wait… wha…" he stumbled over his words, the crayon in his hand slipping from his fingers as he stared at the boy in shock. "But you had to have lost some of your memory! You did not remember meeting me before last night!"

"Didn't I?" said Arcturus leadingly, eyebrows raised in what was clearly _not_ the expression of a five year old.

Harry narrowed his eyes, the truth sinking in.  
"What are you playing at? Don't you realise how worried Sirius is about you?"

Momentarily affected by Harry's approach, Arcturus recovered from his shock quickly and shook his head.  
"Did anyone think to consider _my_ feelings before they took away _my_ Token?" hissed Arcturus angrily, his voice low. "I doubt he has any idea of the consequences its removal now bears on me! He deserves to… what did you say… '_worry_'; though I doubt it's concern about me, rather he just doesn't know what he is going to do with an overgrown five year old once term begins!"

"You're going to keep up the act that long?" Harry stated flatly.

"Who says I am even going to be here that long?" said Arcturus. "So long as I remain under the same roof as he who removed my Token, it won't take long for my Lady to find me."

"Oh, so you _want_ to become an undead slave boy to a psychotic vampire witch?" said Harry sarcastically. He'd been doing some reading since his conversation with Sirius on the subject. "I thought you were against people who did things to you without your consent."

"I am," said Arcturus vehemently. "Esme would never do anything without my consent."

"Oh, so you _asked_ for her Token, then? Begged to be charmed into submission and live with her in your head?" said Harry, incredulous. "Well pardon me, then!"

"It was a _gift_," stressed Arcturus, though, of his own mind for the first time in over a decade, he was beginning to see some truth in the boy's words. "It's generally considered uncouth to refuse a gift."

"My Aunt and Uncle gave me dirty socks for my birthday once," said Harry, his tone darkened by the memory. "Just because I accepted the gift, it didn't mean I actually _wore_ them!"

"Perhaps if you had, you might have been free of them," said Arcturus cryptically, coming to realise both from their scattered conversations and observations of the boy's behaviour that the relationship between Harry and his Muggle relatives was not all that much different as that between a master and his elf.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry, missing the inference entirely. When the smug older teen did not offer an answer, Harry shook his head in disgust.  
"Fine, play your twisted little mind games with everyone," he spat. "If you don't want to give Sirius a chance because you're too busy hatching plans to run back to your little vampire witch, then the two of you deserve each other!"

"She can offer me a lot more than what _he_ ever could," said Arcturus, thinking inwardly on how near-invincible he was with Esmerelda's minions at his control. Already this summer, he'd taken down more Death Eaters than the entire Ministry combined; something he would not have been able to achieve without her assistance.

"How do you know that if you haven't even given him a chance?" said Harry, trying to reason with him.

Arcturus laughed.  
"Please, the man can't even leave this house without a leash…" – he sniggered – "…_literally_! How is being with him going to win any more battles?"

Having heard stories about what the boy had done to those Death Eaters at his grandparents' home, Harry realised where the teen was coming from.  
"There's more to life than fighting battles," he said with a sigh. "Perhaps you should stop fixating on maximising bloodshed and pay some heed to the kind of life your parents would have wanted for you. I mean, do you think your dad would have kept writing to Sirius until the very end unless he _really_ wanted you with your uncle? Think about it."

Lost for words for one of the few times in his life, Arcturus nodded dumbly, a frown on his face. So much of what the boy was saying was right, and yet he just could not shake the sense of duty that his grandmother had drilled into him long ago. If he was not going to avenge his parents, then who would? Token or no, he'd long since proven to himself – and those who had seen him fight – that age was no barrier in his pursuit of victory; could he just sit back and be a kid, like his uncle and all the Order members seemed to think he should?

He scowled inwardly, wondering just how his grandmother had been able to exert such a lasting influence over him when she had died when he was so young. He used to hate it when the old woman would drag him into the Pensieve, and yet after her death he did it daily of his own volition – why? A part of him toyed with the possibility that his mindset had frozen in time the moment Esmerelda had clasped the Token around his neck, effectively giving some credibility to his current façade as well as establishing the childhood rituals his grandmother had started as a routine that would see him through to adulthood.

In the absence of actual memory loss, it was impossible to undo years of learning and instinct – at least to the extent the adults were inclined to believe he had regressed – yet if Arcturus was truly honest with himself, a lot of his current feelings of abandonment and dependency were more akin to his five-year-old self than his physical age. As recently as two months ago, Arcturus could remember feeling quite fine with being separated from the vampire witch, and indeed he had embraced the independence; so this inexplicable hunger to return to her and never leave her side filled him with unease.

"You okay?" said Harry quietly, eying the teen with concern after having received a front row seat watching the emotions play out across Arcturus' face.

"No idea of the consequences…" Arcturus muttered to himself, seemingly oblivious to Harry's concern. Pretending to be five years old was something of a reprieve in that he didn't have to constantly be on his guard, but the realisation that a part of his psyche had been effectively repressed by Esmerelda's influence and was now demonstrably stunted terrified him. Realising, then, that his knowledge about the Token had been restricted to what Esmerelda had seen fit to impress upon him, Arcturus narrowed his eyes at the Boy-Who-Lived.  
"Tell me everything you know about the Lady's Token," he demanded lightly.

Seeing his chance, Harry's eyes flashed victoriously.  
"On one condition," he said leadingly, holding out his hand. "Wizard's Oath…"

"Wizard's Oath," said Arcturus, seizing Harry's hand and not letting go until he found the boy's terms acceptable; the terms of such an oath negotiable until such time as the handshake ended.  
"What are your terms, Potter?"

"Give Sirius a chance," said Harry earnestly, tightening his grip. "_Really_ give him a chance. Start acting your age and let him know about you; I'll think you'll be surprised by how much you have in common."

Seeing no harm in it, Arcturus accepted the terms and released his hand. After Harry's earlier words, he was now questioning the pros and cons of realigning himself with Esmerelda; it becoming unlikely that he would be making any moves until term had commenced, where getting away from school would be easy.  
"What makes you think that Sirius and I would have anything in common, besides blood?" asked Arcturus with genuine curiosity as he rocked back on his heels to survey his work and tidy up the mess with a subtle flick of his wand. Though he had become bored by the activity more than half an hour earlier, he was surprised to feel a sense of accomplishment in finishing his work.  
He frowned and looked over at Harry.  
"You've known him, what, five minutes? Me, even less…"

"Well from what I know of you, you seem to be driven by a need to avenge your parents, right?" said Harry analytically.

"Right," said Arcturus, too proud of his progress to ever deny it.

"Well Sirius is the same," said Harry simply, packing away his own crayons without magic.

"How so?" said Arcturus, interrupting Harry's cleaning by simply banishing the boy's things to their rightful place.

Reeling back in surprise, Harry blinked up at Arcturus and nodded in thanks.  
"The night my parents were killed, he went after the man who had betrayed them. It's what got him thrown in Azkaban," said Harry. "A few years ago, he had a chance to kill the guy, but I stopped him because we wouldn't have been able to prove him innocent otherwise."  
He rolled up his sleeve and showed Arcturus the still healing scar just below his elbow.  
"The rat got away that night, and a few months ago he gave me this scar," Harry explained, watching Arcturus' reaction intently. "I don't think I've ever seen Sirius so worked up, as when he was when he found out. It really frustrates him, being on the run and having to stay in hiding-"

"Then why does he do it?" cut in Arcturus. "Why not hunt the two-timing rat? Death Eaters don't tend to walk around in plain sight when they know someone is out for their blood; he could track this guy down without too much risk of his own capture. The fools at the Ministry aren't exactly the brightest bunch…"

Harry nodded.  
"If he didn't have you or me to think of, I think he would do just that," said Harry. "He told me recently that his pursuit of revenge had failed me once and he didn't want to let it get in the way of being a good guardian again."

"How, how _noble_," drawled Arcturus sarcastically, refusing to admit that a part of him was touched by the gesture, foreign as it were. "And you say we have much in common?"

"The act of avenging the death of a loved one could be called 'noble' too, you know," Harry pointed out with a small smile. "Speaking of which, I think we're all on the same boat there. We just choose to go about things differently."

"So you _are_ out to avenge your parents, then?" said Arcturus, not altogether surprised as the act seemed like a natural retaliation, but curious as to the boy's motivations nevertheless.

"Of course I am!" said Harry, becoming defensive. "I may not go around asking for trouble, and my head count may not be anywhere near as impressive as yours, but I've faced Voldemort practically every year since I found out I was a wizard and managed to tick him off pretty good, so I like to think I'm making _some_ progress!"

Arcturus' face broke out into a grin.  
"You think my headcount is 'impressive'?" he said, chuffed. Reflecting, then, on what the Boy-Who-Lived had just said about facing Voldemort on several occasions, a plan began to formulate in his mind. He could not even think of a Dark creature – such as what had formerly been at his disposal – who had gone up against Voldemort and walked away as unscathed as this boy before him had; perhaps he did not need Esmerelda's help in such matters after all. His smile widened.  
"Would be interesting to see what could be achieved if we all worked together," he added. "You, me and Sirius…"

Harry nodded wistfully.  
"You, me and Sirius…" he mirrored Arcturus' words in a awed whisper, suddenly feeling a little less alone in the world. With the likes of his friends, and Sirius and Arcturus by his side in battle, victory did not seem so far out of reach. Sharing a determined look with the slightly older teen who was thinking along the same lines – albeit with not quite as much sentimentality – Harry grinned.  
"I'm sure there's a lot we could learn from each other."

Arcturus nodded in agreement.  
"No time like the present," he said, snatching up his drawings and rising to discard them on a nearby table.

The sight of Arcturus with a drawing in hand triggering a thought in Harry's mind, the Boy-Who-Lived scrambled to lay out his own artwork alongside Arcturus', his question falling freely from his lips as he did so.  
"If you haven't really been five all this time, who were you really sending that picture to?" he asked in a conspiring whisper, leaning in close to the teen as the boy lingered to inspect Harry's work.

"It wasn't a picture," confessed Arcturus with a roll of his eyes. He turned and hefted himself up onto the edge of the table, facing Harry now. "I sent Krum the game plans for the next match. Which reminds me… I'm supposed to do something else for him while I am here; where's that bushy-haired friend of yours… what's her name… Krum took her to the Yule Ball…"

"Oh, Hermione!" said Harry, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

"Yeah, that's it," said Arcturus with a nod. "Viktor told me her name, of course, but I just didn't trust his pronunciation."

Harry burst out laughing.  
"Yeah, she was always correcting him," he said lightly. "You were right from not saying it his way. Without the accent and whole language barrier thing I don't think she would have found it as excusable."

"Hermione…" Arcturus tested the name out, rolling it out between his lips slowly. "As in the queen from _Winter's Tale_? Krum's interpretation sounded nothing like it – I should have had him write it down for me…"

Smirking at the thought of his best friend's tongue-tied dance partner, Harry was pulled from the memory by another realisation.  
"Wait… _game plans_?" he spluttered, noting from personal experience that Viktor Krum played for the Bulgarian National team. "_You_ were sending the Bulgarian team _game plans_? I didn't know you followed Quidditch!"

And that was how Sirius found them twenty minutes later, artwork cast aside and plans to avenge parents forgotten as they compared Quidditch strategies and flight stories. A passer-by unfamiliar with the pair's respective histories would be easily forgiven for mistaking them for two normal wizarding teenagers. Smiling ear to ear, Sirius was rapt to see his two charges beginning to get along, and he made no secret of his pride as he let his presence be known.  
"Ah, Harry… teaching young Archie all about Quidditch, I see?" he said proudly, closing the distance between them and leaning against the back of a sofa, directly opposite where the boys were seated on the table.

"No, actually, Arcturus is teaching _me_ quite a few things," said Harry levelly, not giving anything away. At some point in their banter, it had been decided that Arcturus should simply start acting normal again and then see how long it took those around them to catch on.

Assuming that his godson was simply indulging a boastful five year old, Sirius winked approvingly at Harry and grinned secretively, playing along with the game that had no other players. Seeing this, the two teens shared a conspiring look of their own.

'_This should be fun,_' they both thought.

"C'mon, Arcturus," said Harry, heaving himself off the table before Sirius could humiliate himself any further. "Let's go give Hermione her Snitch…"

At Arcturus' nod, Sirius frowned and grabbed the boy's arm as he passed.  
"You're giving your Snitch to Hermione?" he asked, confused. "But you were having so much fun chasing it around the room earlier…"

"So? I'm only doing what I was told," said Arcturus with a shrug, tugging himself out of his uncle's lax grip and side-stepping around the befuddled wizard; the man no doubt recalling that Krum had, indeed, whispered something into his nephew's ear before he'd left, clearly imparting his message even though the boy had not shown noticeable signs of consciousness until after Krum had left.

Watching dumbly as the two boys left the room, Sirius could not help but shake the feeling that he was missing something. Had he dwelt on his memories of the night they'd removed Arcturus' Token, he might have recalled how the boy's surprise at finding the Snitch in his hand directly contradicted his current behaviour. The sentimental Animagus, however, was simply too overjoyed by the sight of the two boys surviving a morning together without killing each other to pay it any due thought.


	9. Making Connections

**Disclaimer: **If it were mine, I would not be feeling so remiss about how much my travel plans are shooting over budget... 

**Updated**: Friday, 27 April 2007.  
**Edited: **Wednesday, 02 January 2008

**Chapter 9: Making Connections**

By simply refraining from hexing those who crossed him and keeping his pointed opinions to himself, Arcturus found that many in the household still looked upon him as though he were five. Chalking it up to their poor observational skills, he had overruled Harry's suggestion that they come clean; the boredom of sitting idly in a house prompting him to remain ambiguous. Ever so slowly, the end of summer approached, and Arcturus knew that his game would come to an end soon. Presently, the nearly sixteen-year-old wizard was curled up in his grandfather's chair in the drawing room, pouring himself over a thick, musty tome he'd rescued from an overlooked nook in the attic. His Aunt Lucretia had confiscated the book from him nearly seven years earlier, and Arcturus was feeling rather pleased with himself for uncovering it at last; having harboured fears that his aunt may have sold it in Knockturn Alley for a tidy profit, or otherwise gone outside with it and had it seized by the Ministry.

"What are you reading, there, kiddo?"

Arcturus snapped the book shut and leant over it protectively as his uncle sauntered into the room casually. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment Sirius had started with his quaint little endearments, and by all means had he not been trying to maintain a certain childish image he would have hexed the man the first time he'd been addressed by anything other than his rightful name, but now as his uncle's words washed over him, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the warmth in the man's tone. Avoiding Sirius' gaze, Arcturus scowled at himself for entertaining such thoughts, even though a part of him suspected that this was one area Esme had ruthlessly controlled in the past and what was emerging now were completely natural reactions.

"Where did you get that book?" said Sirius, stunned. Whilst Arcturus had been waging an inward battle, his uncle had crossed the room and tilted his head to inspect the spine of the book in his nephew's hand.

One look at the man's face was all it took for Arcturus to know that Sirius knew precisely what kind of book they were dealing with, and he levelled a glare in challenge. Whether the man was still of the belief that his nephew had regressed in age was unclear, but he seemed to know better than to try and wrench the outlawed book from Arcturus' hands.  
"I don't think you should be reading that…" said Sirius slowly. "I don't know how or where you found it, but I'm guessing it had been hidden for a reason…"

"Yeah, Aunt Lucretia did not want me to try any of the spells on her," snorted Arcturus, wistfully thinking of all the hell he could have caused had he found the book sooner. Truth told, he'd forgotten about it entirely, and it was not until he had been up in the attic looking for a locket his father had left him, and he'd not worn since Esmerelda bestowed him with his Token, that he'd come across it. Right now he was searching its pages for anything that may reference the powers of a vampire's Token, and he was not about to give it up.

A light went off in Sirius' head. First, he'd come in to find the boy immersed in a very large, and very complicated text, and then there was the tiny matter of Aunt Lucretia.  
"Your Aunt Lucretia could not have moved in until you were about seven," Sirius pointed out, eyes wide as the truth began to hit home. "Are you getting some memory back?"

"Feels like it never left," said Arcturus casually, feigning a miraculous turn around.

Sirius regarded his nephew through hooded eyes, his expression pensive as he considered the possibilities.  
"Assuming it never did leave, why the act?" he asked levelly, years spent as a prankster in his Hogwarts days filling him with the insight necessary to detect when someone was about to come clean.

Arcturus shrugged.  
"Oh you know, the lengths people would go to in the avoidance of boredom," he quipped flippantly, removing his possessive hold of the book in his hands once it was clear that Sirius was not about to try and take it away. He flicked through a few pages casually, feigning nonchalance, though his intense stare gave a distinctly different impression. "Also, you needed to learn not to jump into things without considering first the consequences…"

Put out by the boy's admission, and all the days of worry the teen had purposefully put him through, Sirius found it difficult to keep his temper in check.  
"But there _were_ no consequences to consider, were there?" he snapped, gesticulating wildly. "It was all an act! How could you do that?"

"It was quite easy," said Arcturus, picking at a nail boorishly. "I simply adapted to my surrounds. Honestly, Merlin knows why the other _teenagers_ haven't staged a mutiny, what, after an entire summer of being oppressed and kept out of things! Don't even try to deny that you found dealing with a child better than the constant battle of keeping an adolescent in the dark…"

Sirius growled.  
"Yes, but _why_, Arcturus?" he asked, begging for understanding. "I did something major without your input, and you were rightfully pissed about it, I get that, but why not just yell at me and get it over with? Why did you have to put me though all that _worry_? All of us! Merlin knew what we were going to do with you when school started… you were showing no signs of recovery…"

Arcturus shook his head in revulsion.  
"I'll tell you why," he said quietly, cutting his uncle off mid-rant. He tucked the book under an arm and stood tall, his eyes flashing with barely compressed emotion. "I did it because I wanted you to feel as helpless as I did! My behaviour of late may have been contrived, but the principle behind it is sound. Do you have any idea, for instance, what it's like for me to suddenly have autonomous control of parts of my mind that were under _her_ influence the vast majority of my life? I feel as emotionally needy _as_ a damn five year old, and my judgement has gone to hell – the old me would certainly not be disclosing any of this – so yeah, if it will make you feel any better, thanks to you part of my mind _has_ regressed horribly! Happy?"

With that, Arcturus brushed past his uncle and stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned Sirius Black in his wake; one though reeling through his mind…  
'_What have I done?'_

* * *

Arcturus could not believe he had just let go of all his angst, holding almost nothing back as he confronted his uncle. Why had he said so much? Was that what being a hormone-riddled teenager was all about? Irrationality? Uncontrollable urges? The ridiculous belief that one was simultaneously impervious to danger and the victim of all those around them?

Whatever the cause, Arcturus knew that he needed to calm down, and there was only one thing good for that. Unfortunately for him, a certain slimy-haired cousin spotted him retrieving his grandfather's Pensieve before he'd even thought of locking the study door behind himself, and his trip down memory lane was rudely interrupted.

"What the hell are you doing here?" snapped Arcturus as two figures appeared beside him in his father's memory; his uncle and bat of a cousin.

Suddenly, the intensely private boy felt self-conscious about exposing Sirius to the scene that, ultimately, led to his father's death, and he attempted to block their view.  
"Get out! Why didn't you just pull me out? God! Do you have to stick your nose into _everything_?" - the profile of his cousin's abnormally long nose caught his eye and he could not help but throw in an insult – "You, Snape, I can almost understand - it's a congenital hazard after all - but it's still inexcusable. So get out!"

Having arrived in the memory at the point just after he and his father's arrival at Grimmauld Place, Sirius could not tear his eyes away from the brother he'd never seen looking so despondent. The tune he was nervously humming to the newborn wrapped in his cloak was immediately identifiable as the same one he'd heard his brother's mother-in-law use on Arcturus weeks earlier. He went rigid as began to watch the scene unfold.

_"Mother!" Regulus Black bellowed, immediately sporting a look of self-reproach when the hungry, unsettled infant in his arms began to fuss. _

_The door to the study opened out into the hallway and a figure Sirius knew all too well burst into the scene.  
"Regulus! What are you doing back so soon…" the voice of the Black patriarch stopped short as his silvery grey eyes spotted the squirming bundle. He took a measured step forward, his face softened to a degree Sirius had no living memory of witnessing. "Is this… Regulus, what are you doing, removing an infant from its mother so soon? Son, is everything all right?" _

_"She's dead," Regulus said flatly, clearly in shock. "The potion was supposed to minimise her pain, and prevent blood loss… I got the remedy from the Dark Lord himself! It seems He viewed my wife as a threat…" the young wizard's voice cracked and he gazed down at the restless infant in his arms. "Soon as they suspected what had happened, her parents cast us out. Father, what am I to do?" _

_"You can start by introducing me to your heir," said Orion Black in a strange tone, seeming to falter in his words as the child's gender remained undisclosed. _

_As if the rest of the world had suddenly ceased to exist, Regulus' face brightened and he re-affirmed his possessive hold on the baby in his arms. Gazing down at the infant, he smiled uncontrollably before looking his father square in the eye.  
"Father, I would like for you to meet my son," he said proudly, offering the bundle of blankets to his child's grandfather. "Arcturus Phineas Black." _

_Accepting his family's newest heir, Orion Black studied the alert face of his grandson.  
"You have chosen well," he said approvingly, leaving it an open question as to whether he was talking of the choice of name, or the genetic gene pool that had been aligned with the Black line to create the child. _

_Suddenly lost without the anchor of his son in his arms, Regulus slumped and bowed his head.  
"I chose poorly," he said dejectedly, rubbing at his marked arm pointedly. His head snapping up, as though remembering something horrific, he stared at his father in alarm. "Kreacher!" _

_A shivering mass of soaking wet House Elf appeared on the floor with a weak 'crack', impromptuly summoned by the exclaimation of its master.  
"M-m-m-aster Regulus!" Kreacher quivered, his dull eyes widening with hope and admiration as they set upon the younger of the two brothers Black. _

_"Kreacher! What happened to you?" snapped Orion, taken aback by his elf's dishevelled appearance. Sensing something untoward, he narrowed his eyes at his son. "Regulus?" _

_Regulus shifted his feet almost sheepishly – an act Sirius well remembered from their shared youth – and avoided his father's steely gaze.  
"The Dark Lord required a volunteer… a House Elf…" said Regulus, his voice trailing off in bitter self-reproach. "I leant him Kreacher. But that was before I knew of his plans for my wife!"  
_

_He turned his attention to the elf that had clearly been traumatised by the hand of the Dark Lord. Because his father was unable to do so on account of the infant in his arms, he pulled out his own wand and rid the shaking elf of the foul intrepid water that clung to his leathered skin like quicksilver. In a move Sirius recognised as being something his nephew had taken pains to emulate, the watching boy's father stooped down on his haunches and addressed Kreacher at almost eye-level; a comforting hand on the shaken elf's shoulder.  
"Kreacher, what did He have you do?" he requested answers. "Tell me everything." _

_The memory shifted slightly, causing Arcturus to bristle with what Sirius could see was a well-rehearsed frustration. It was with a jolt that the unwelcome Animagus realised that the memory they were now viewing was not from the point of view of his brother, but now that of the family's elf, Kreacher.  
"Kreacher is sorry, Master," the elf appeared inconsolable in unspoken grief. "Kreacher did all that he could do, but Master Regulus wished to stay…" _

_"Kreacher, where is my son?" demanded Orion Black, rising steadily from his chair in the drawing room – the one Sirius had noticed his nephew favouring. Across the room, his very alive mother sat rocking the bundle of blankets that cocooned her grandson, all traces of the insanity that ultimately claimed her life apparently missing. "If my son is dead as you say, I must see his body! Where is he?" _

_"Kreacher… Kreacher cannot say," the elf said regretfully, but before his master could advance upon him in reproach, he held his head high and added quickly; "but Kreacher can show Master." _

_Orion Black nodded once, impatient, but the elf made no move to immediately comply. Watery tears unshed in his eyes, the spindly elf squared his shoulders and raised his chin slightly, apparently determined to hold himself together in execution of his absent master's final wishes. Approaching his mistress, and the infant in her arms, he held out a bony limb; his fingers firmly clasped around something that extended from a silvery chain.  
"Master Regulus did leave this for young Master," Kreacher said sadly, unfurling his fingers to reveal a locket. "Young Master is not to wear it, but keep it safe. When Young Master is older, Kreacher will help Young Master to understand, but Master Regulus is not wanting Kreacher to say anything yet." _

_"Very well, Kreacher," said Orion in understanding, apparently content with his son's judgement to impart his secret to the family elf. "If Regulus trusts you, then I will not question you further. Walburga, what are you doing?" _

_Walburga Black looked up from where she had been fastening the locket around the infant's neck, and tightened her possessive hold on the baby.  
"He'll wear it in memory of his father," she declared tearfully, leaving no room for argument. She held the baby up so that her husband could better see the jewel their grandson now wore. "Don't you recognise it, Orion? It is Slytherin's mark! I don't know what Regulus was thinking… surely, Kreacher, you heard him wrong… to wear such a heirloom is surely an honour!" _

_Habitually slipping into the role of placating his wife's whims, Orion merely nodded in acquiescence and returned his attentions to discovering the fate of his missing son.  
"Kreacher, I want you to take me to Regulus," he commanded. _

_Kreacher looked positively terrified.  
"But Master," he said urgently, in a rare show of defiance, fat tears now falling. "Kreacher does not wish for Master to suffer the same fate as Master Regulus-" _

_"Desist with your snivelling, Kreacher, and take me to my son!" demanded Orion angrily, having no more patience for the House Elf's loyal sentiments. "I will see his death avenged!" _

At that, the memory faded and the three wizards found themselves returned to the imposing Black study. Striding purposefully to stand before the empty grate, his back to the unwelcomed witnesses of his father's legacy, Arcturus stared unseeingly at the mantle.  
"Grandmother blamed Kreacher, when her husband followed my father into the grave," he said lowly. "The elf would not show her what had happened either, on my father's word…" he turned slowly to stare at his uncle. "She showed me that memory, every night in my waking memory, so that I would be ingrained with the duty of avenging my forefathers. After her death, it was one of the only things that tied me to my past."

"Do you know where Kreacher took them?" asked Sirius quietly, slightly shaken by the memory's implications. "Where… where Voldemort had led the elf?"

But before Arcturus could answer in the affirmative, beginning to nod slightly, Snape cut in brusquely.  
"The Locket, boy!" he snapped with a terse urgency. He stepped forward menacingly and failed dismally in his attempt to tower over the tall teen. "What became of it?"

Lips curling into a secretive smile at the opportunity that had just been afforded him, Arcturus turned his nose up at the insistent Potions brewer and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  
"I am still not convinced your hand in my mother's death was incidental," he said scathingly, through gritted teeth. "What makes you think I would volunteer such information _to you_?"

Sirius looked between the two wizards in mounting confusion.  
"What's so important about this locket?" he asked dumbly. "So it was Slytherin's-?"

"_So, _it was was what my father died for!" snapped Arcturus testily, rounding on his uncle; "and, by extension, your own!"

Sensing that his nephew was not going to divulge any useful information in the presence of their mutual nemesis, Sirius turned to glare at the resident Potions Master.  
"Snape, don't you have some place else to be?" he suggested leadingly, prompting the Slytherin head to turn and sweep out of the room. Calling after the departing wizard, he shook his head in contempt. "And don't let me catch you following my nephew into his Pensieve again!"  
He turned to his nephew.  
"Sorry, kid, _I_ didn't intend to spy, I was just out to make sure Snape wasn't giving you a hard time… do you have any idea why he would be compelled to follow you into that Pensieve?"

"What, besides being a nosey git?" said Arcturus dryly, though if one were to look closely they would see he was a little rattled at the implication that Snape had been particularly fixated on the locket. He crossed the study floor and retrieved a familiar crystal decanter. "Drink?"

"You know, I really shouldn't condone you drinking," Sirius began, changing his tune when he saw his nephew's expression. Changing the subject, he asked the question he felt he would gain more ground with than his unwelcome houseguest. "This locket Regulus died for… did Kreacher end up telling you what your Dad intended for you to do with it?"

Arcturus finished the nod he had been prohibited from completing earlier.  
"His secret was the only thing that kept him alive, for many years," said Arcturus, referring to the blind rage his grandmother had felt towards the elf, and the manner in which Lucretia had been tempted to rid the house of all young Arcturus' allies. He shook his head at the memories and frowned at his uncle. "After Lucretia died, and I was free to act on my own volition, Kreacher showed me what my father intended for me to see…"  
He lowered his gaze and was astonished to feel a lump forming at his throat. The memory Kreacher had shown him depicted his father's death, and he was so certain it was an image he had long since come to terms with; but evidently Esmerelda's influence stretched so far as to mute his own grief. Summoning up all his strength, he revealed to his father's brother what he had seen.  
"Kreacher showed me my father's death," he said flatly, avoiding his uncle's piercing gaze. "Specifically, his final words…"

"What were they?" Sirius whispered, unbidden.

Arcturus blinked and frowned at his uncle.  
"No," he denied the man an answer. "I'm not ready to share that with anybody yet."

Reeling back slightly, suddenly reminded by the wedge he had inadvertedly created between himself and his nephew when he had refused to acknowledge his brother's letters all those years previously, Sirius sighed and nodded. Though the teenager's stubborness frustrated him, he could understand it, and had resigned himself to taking things slowly. Catching the boy's eye, and recognising the expression thanks to the genetics Arcturus shared with the wizard he'd once known so well, Sirius stepped forward and did the one thing he'd wished someone was there to do for him when he'd been fifteen and trapped in his parent's oppressive home. Grasping both shoulders firmly, he bowed his head slightly so that he were at eye level with his nephew and sighed.  
"It's okay, Arcturus. You can let it out…"

In denial, Arcturus shook his head violently. Squeezing his eyes shut, he refused to look at the man.  
"No, I can't," he said desperately, confusion leaking into his tone as he battled with emotions the vampire witch had, until so recently, kept a tight cap on. For the first time in years, watching the last known memory of his father had a marked effect on him, and now he was no longer distracted by the anger he felt whenever in Snape's presence, felt his resolve begin to crumble. He shook his head again. "I can't afford to be so _weak_! There's a battle to fight…"

Gripping the boy's chin, Sirius urged the boy's head upwards to face him.  
"Arcturus, open your eyes and look at me," he said steadily. Resistance against his hand told him that the boy was trying to shake his head. "No, Arcturus, _look at me_!"

Determined blue eyes glared into grey.

"Grief is not a weakness," he stressed. "There are several vital stages, of which anger and vengefulness are but one. _Let it out_!"

Seeing the sincerity in the man's eyes, hearing his concern, and feeling his presence, it took all of Arcturus' resolve not to react. The pair maintained eye contact, words unsaid passing between them, when suddenly, an all-too-familiar presence swirled into Sirius' line of sight; sending a electrifying shock through the pair.

Eyes wide, Arcturus backed away warily, Sirius having let go of his nephew and moved on his own accord.  
"What the hell was that?" he said, sounding shaken.

"Esme…" whispered Arcturus, one hand rubbing frantically at the nape of his neck, where the tiny hairs that had never failed to rise in her presence were standing on end. He shivered. "She's trying to reach me through you."

"Did it work?" said Sirius, his throat dry, and eyes wide.

"Oh, she got through to me all right," said Arcturus, furrowing his brow in confusion. "But I wasn't as happy to see her as I thought I would be."

"It's more than just a novelty; the whole thinking independently thing, eh?" said Sirius, trying to add some brevity to the otherwise dismal circumstances they found themselves in.

"Yeah, you ought to try it, sometime," Arcturus quipped back, quick as a flash.

Sirius scowled in mock indignation and seized the boy's shoulders again, figuring that they would be safe so long as they don't have any more skin-to-skin contact like before.  
"I'm not side-tracked that easily, kid," he said softly. "If that unscheduled little, er, visit, threw the mood off the market, then good riddance, but don't forget that it's perfectly normal… perfectly acceptable… to acknowledge all seven stages of grief."

"There's seven?" question Arcturus with a raised brow. "Like the seven deadly sins?"

Sirius shrugged and, taking a dare, ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.  
"Well, you know what they say about the number seven…"

* * *

Esmerelda was furious. Her tenuous link with the man who had become cursed the moment he'd taken the boy away from her could not be called upon for days. Feeding off Sirius Black's emotions as he dallied around his mysterious nephew, aloof and possessed with fear of rejection, she found that she could not force his hand. All she'd needed was for the man to come into contact with the boy, and then she'd be able to reach inside Arcturus' mind once more.

After ten years of having a part of herself within the boy's head, overseeing his every thought and helping to shape who he had become, she missed it. It wasn't so much about regaining the control, a hold that the boy had been largely unaware of, rather it was a matter of recovering that which made her whole. For Arcturus, as their separation had helped her realise, was not like any of the others that had come – and gone – before him; he was the _one_: the perfect embodiment of all that Esmerelda had ever lost. Child. Companion. Confidante. Warrior. _Lover_? Esmerelda had not been blind to the boy's misguided overtures – in fact she loved to tease the child about it – but that was just it; he was a child to her.

Or was he?

Irrevocably wrenched from him as completely as a spirit is exorcised from its host, she could not help but liken the void in her chest to how a widow might pine for her husband. Indeed Arcturus had grown into a man; perhaps not yet technically so, but mentally and emotionally she could not fault him. Under her careful guidance he had become a warrior, though if she were truly honest with herself she would admit to having very little to do with that transformation. Whether by birthright or circumstance, Arcturus Black had what it took to lead armies; Esmerelda had merely encouraged it.

But now here he was, her little warrior, severed from her influence in the first time since he _was_ a child, and though she would never care to admit it, Esmerelda was scared. Irrespective of the precise nature of her feelings towards the teen, the fact remained that they were real. Having forcibly bound herself to Arcturus and doctoring his emotions for so long, she now had cause to question if he would still look at her the same way in return. The autonomy of his thoughts and possibility of his rejection was never a concern so long as he kept the Token; he'd never considered removing it whilst under her thrall and had no family around to convince – or force - him otherwise.

Arcturus' family.

Esmerelda's blood boiled at the thought of them. The link that had now been forged between herself and the man who had destroyed Arcturus' Token was not nearly as strong as she would have liked. Still confident that she was the only one who could remove the mark that the Token had left upon the man who dared to interfere with its purpose, Esmerelda suspected that Sirius Black had, from all his years in Azkaban, become adept at protecting his mind from outside influences, consciously or otherwise. Either that, or that infuriating fool Dumbledore had surrounded the man with more of his impenetrable magic; which is why she could not do anything without Black physically touching the boy first. One touch would be all that she'd need to exploit the likenesses in their blood and cast herself into Arcturus' mind. The connection would only last so long as the physical contact itself, and it would not be enough to exert any influence, but to assure the boy that she had not forsaken him - to see what he was thinking – would be enough. For now.

When the moment came, Esmerelda was ready. When she pushed the boundaries of whatever protection prevented her from controlling the older Black, she could see through his eyes. For the most part, she had contended herself with what the man's mind revealed to her – which was everything not externally shielded by magical vow or charm – but when she had felt the man's concern towards his nephew, she had to witness it firsthand.

Seeing through the man's eyes, Esmerelda was shocked to see that her conduit had been gripping the boy's chin entirely without her knowledge. Cursing herself for underestimating the unknown power that kept the Token's parting curse from taking full effect, she didn't have time to think. Acting quickly, she stretched the limits of her bond and, using the physical contact between the two Blacks as a bridge, thrust herself into Arcturus' mind. She'd barely made it through his Occlumency shields when the force of her efforts drove man and child apart, severing the link she had fought to establish.

Gifted with but only a fragmented glimpse of Arcturus' mind, Esmerelda was disheartened by what she found. Through the rush of uncontrollable hormones that flooded his mind now that she was not there to keep them dammed, one thing was undeniable: he was not happy with her.

Her body falling into an uncharacteristic slump, she sat back and considered her options. So preoccupied with how much she missed the boy and how the separation was, in turn, effecting him, she'd paid no mind to what he'd feel when he'd come to realise just how much she had controlled his emotions. As it were, Arcturus' teenaged inclination to rebel had pushed the limits of her control, and she had favoured indulging his whims over subtly shaping his mind into submission. It was never any secret between them that the teen had no ambition to be turned, to join her immortal realm. She had fed off his thirst for revenge and encouraged the exploitation of her numbers in the knowledge that, when he was done avenging his parents, she would remain all that he had, and that when that time came he'd be ready for what she wanted. Yes, she could have ensured this by coercive means, but Esmerelda had thought time to be on her side, and knew the virtues of patience.

Looking back on it now, Esmerelda almost wished that she'd exploited her hold over the boy whilst she'd still had it. Strangely, she did not regret her actions, though, for to completely alter the boy's perception and turn him into a mindless drone would do nothing to set him apart from the countless scores of Muggles she had Turned to do her whim. No, Esmerelda respected Arcturus as his own person, only doing what was necessary to ensure both his safety and effectiveness in battle. How any normal teenager could ever reach a rational conclusion with such a war of hormones raging within them was unfathomable, and Esmerelda had only wanted to spare her protégé from the indecision.

Sensing his anger now, over all else, Esmerelda felt jilted. Knowing the boy as well as she did, and knowing how much he loved both his knowledge and power, she could not bring herself to feel surprise at his reaction. But where she had hoped Arcturus would be rational and acknowledge that she had only endeavoured to assist him, the flood of testosterone that flowed freely without her guard had clearly chased all semblance of reason from his mind. He resented the control she'd used sparingly, beginning to doubt the origin of his feelings towards her in the process. In that one fleeting moment, all of Esmerelda's fears were coming true: she was losing him, and if she didn't speak with him soon all hope would be lost.

* * *

"What of Karkaroff?" the Dark Lord's voice was low and menacing, his followers grateful for the lack of the letter 's' in his request, lest it be rendered entirely indecipherable. Unfortunately for them, the answer would not be pleasing to their Master.

A weedy looking wizard whose foolhardy rashness and brave countenance may have seen him sorted in Gryffindor had he ever attended Hogwarts stepped forward.  
"My Lord, we have tracked the traitor to the Romanian hinterland," he said, bowing so low that he missed the flash of impatience in his master's eyes. "He has found sanctuary with a coven there."

"There is no coven in the wilds of Romania, fool boy!" snapped the Dark wizard, wordlessly hurling a Cruciatus Curse in the man's direction. He had to yell, then, to be heard over the unfortunate wizard's throes of pain. "I spent the better part of ten years turning those woodlands inside out, waiting for one of my most loyal to bestow upon me a body. The Darkness therein is intoxicating! Not even I could cross its boundaries. Coven or no, whatever lies within those shadows would never bow down to the needs of a traitor!"

"He was sighted…" the man croaked out, knowing that if he were not to regain the Dark Lord's favour with his next bit of news then it would mean certain death. "Montague traced the boy's escape. He had a liege of Vampires assisting him take down our men, I'm sorry my Lord, but I assumed that they were the ones protecting Karkaroff… traces of his magic were found at the point where Black entered the forest with the undead army."

Voldemort bristled as attention was drawn to another situation that was plaguing him of late: Arcturus Black. He had been trying to get his hands on the boy since the day of his birth; the boy's father having sealed his son's fate the moment he'd left the infant in the 'safe keeping' of relatives and openly defied him. The Dark Lord had hoped to recover quickly that which the traitorous Black had stolen from right under his nose, but after the boy had escaped with his son only to die a coward's death at the Inferi's hand rather than face him, Voldemort had no choice but to pursue the traitor's kin in the hope of recovering what he had lost.

Much to his chagrin, the Black matriarch was a force to be reckoned with. Like her son's home, no one could cross her threshold without invitation; but unlike her youngest son, she had the wits about her to deny an audience with the likes of those who had taken her husband and son from her. Following his temporary demise, two of his most faithful – none other than Walburga Black's own nieces – had tried in vain to do their master's bidding in the hope that it would give them a way to bring him back, but it was all to be in vain. Had Voldemort possessed a corporeal form at the time he might have punished Bella extensively for losing her temper and trying to torture the information out of the old woman and her House Elf, for they had burned all bridges behind them after that. Not only had the woman survived Bella's attentions with a measure of sanity intact, but she refused visitors thereafter and whatever provisions she went on to make for her grandson's ongoing care after her death made the boy near untouchable.

The only time any of Voldemort's people had gotten close to the young Black heir was when he were enrolled in Durmstrang. Thinking, then, of how Karkaroff had masterfully stood in the way of any reprisals, it was insulting how the man's eventual defection remained a surprise. Igor had assured Lucius – who'd never given up trying to exploit his wife's blood tie to the boy after the child was left without a guardian – that Arcturus Black had no knowledge of the circumstances that surrounded his father's demise and that, given time, the child would grow to become one of the Dark Lord's strongest followers. That the boy waited until his mentor was safely hidden before revealing his army and indiscriminately waging a war against those who bore the Dark Mark, was of no coincidence, and it was widely suspected that the boy was helping Karkaroff hide.

"What news of the boy," the Dark Lord shifted his attention, suspecting now that the boy would be the only person who could lead him to both his missing heirloom and the cowardly traitor.

"He hasn't been seen since the post-game gathering, nearly two weeks ago," whimpered the man at his feet, not wanting to prescribe any of his comrades to the fate that already awaited him. He looked up, a fool's hope glistening in his eye as he kept trying to please his master. "He left quite suddenly, looking in considerable pain. The Seeker, Krum, was heard saying something about a Blood Bond. It would explain how he responded so promptly when we attacked his grandparents' home…"

"I already knew of the Bond, you stupid man! Why else would I have targeted his mother's kin if not certain of the fact that it would draw him out?" snapped Voldemort. "Now tell me something I _don't_ know, and I may just consider sparing your life… why didn't anyone think of acquiring him there? It was a crowded club… he could have been spirited away…"

"He did not leave the team's table the entire night, my Lord," said another wizard fearfully; the one who had been in charge of staking out the popular nightspot after the Bulgarian team's victory in the anticipation that the Black boy would show up. The Dark Lord had forgiven him his impertinence on account of the combined strength and influence the families of those Quidditch players held; whilst none of the team were loyal to him, none were demonstrably against him, either, and all preferred to keep it that way.

The Dark Lord waved off the man's response and returned his attention to the wizard still cowering on the floor.  
"You do not know something I do not?" he asked, sounding disappointed as he raised his wand to kill the incompetent man. "Pity…"

"No! Wait! My Lord!" the man spluttered, staring into the face of death and reeling back from what he saw awaiting him. "Wait… the boy's Token… I think it explains everything!"

The wizard formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle stopped short. It had been closely observed by his sources at the school that the young Black had exhibited a certain affinity amongst the population of Dark Creatures on its grounds. Previously, all reference to the boy bearing a Token had come from the natural conclusion that the half-breed alumni of the school had chosen to pledge themselves to him and protect him; though very few had seen any trinket on the boy that could pass as such a gift. But those creatures who had been seen assisting the boy kill his Death Eaters were of a variety none had ever seen. So, if the boy did indeed have a Token, and it had come from a source outside the school, then how did he come to strike such an allegiance if he'd spent the past four summers trying to avoid Lucius? Curiosity getting the better of him, Voldemort lowered his wand and beckoned the quivering man to continue.

"He needs to keep it exposed in battle, to effectively ward off attack from any Dark Creature, right?" the man stumbled over his words, stuttering and pausing like a condemned climber hanging from a cliff with only his nails for purchase. He went on. "The… the… gathering at the nightclub was the same night as the attack… he… he… didn't appear to have changed his attire: you could see the Token quite freely."

At this, Voldemort leant forward in unmasked interest. While it was necessary to keep a Token in sight of the creature posing a threat, even he could not deny the difficulty in securing a good look at something when you are too busy fighting for your life. Until quite recently, it had been doubted that the boy even _had_ such a thing in his possession; it was on Greyback's testimony alone that one really did exist, though the bloodthirsty werewolf was incapable of describing it. Seated at a table, comparatively unguarded as he celebrated with his Quidditch playing comrades, it was wholly conceivable that the boy had left his Token in plain sight long enough to get a description from anyone smart enough to watch for it.

"Well?" he said impatiently when the man hesitated. "What of it? Who gave it to him?"

Tokens were unique to each Coven, and Voldemort awaited eagerly for the information that would enable him to retaliate against the loss of his men. It would not do to strike out at the Vampire community blindly; turn the historically neutral race completely against him. The man swallowed nervously.  
"I do not know," he confessed. "Whoever left their mark on him is either not widely known, or they are fiercely guarded. That the boy only uses them in battle at night, and that he has been tracked to that particular forest, lends itself to only one possible conclusion."

The Dark Lord nodded his reprieve, one name coming to mind. Esmerelda Bane. He leant back in his chair and toyed with the wand in his hand. The woman was the stuff of legends… very few had set eyes on her and lived, and no one had ever succeeded in uncovering the secrets of her coven. Leaked files from the Vampire Council had narrowed down her location to the Romanian wilds, but not even they could track her movements. The vampire witch was an enigma… one that had intrigued the Dark Lord ever since, as a student, he'd come across an old book whilst serving Detention with his Defence professor.

Whilst he had regarded the class as nothing more than an opportunity to see how a potential enemy might defend themselves against attack, he had built up a grudging respect for its teacher. When catching his student perusing the clearly Dark book, the man had made no effort to reclaim it, instead embracing the young student's desire to learn and regaling him with some of the stories from within the book's pages. The fable of the vengeful Lady Bane scouring the earth for her heir had struck a chord with the orphaned Slytherin, and he had often fantasised of the power they would have wielded together had he been so chosen. Truth be told, he sought her still, wholly of the belief that once acquainted the woman would be able to identify with his goals and work with him. It had been why he had chosen Romania to recover in, after that initial attack on the Potter boy divested him of his body.

"Strange, how fate doth play its hand," he mused aloud, thinking it almost poetic that the great-grandson of the man who had first introduced him to the idea of an all powerful vampire witch would also be the one to lead him to her. Remembering something else, then, he snapped his head towards his most ambiguous of followers. "Snape! Step forward!"

The contrived double agent belied no hesitation as he resumed his predecessor's position kneeling prostrate on the floor; the younger wizard having been released back into the circle with an impatient flick of a wand and scuttling back to his place like a cockroach avoiding light. Staring down at the greasy hair of his most competent Potions brewer as it spilled from the sides of his mask, he chuckled menacingly.  
"Do something with your hair, Severus," he said, degrading the proud head of his forefather's house. "Your students would recognise it anywhere. Now, take off your mask and look at me…"

As the Potions Master fluidly complied with the request, his body showing no signs of having heard the sniggers of his brethren behind him, Voldemort could not help but nod approvingly when he could further detect no sign of affliction in the unmasked wizard's eyes. Maintaining eye contact just enough to probe at his spy's shields in warning, he moved in for the kill.  
"The Black boy is heir apparent to your grandparents' estate, is he not?" he asked, cruelly drawing light to the fact that the older heir had been overlooked on account of his dirty blood. Whilst the closely guarded half-blood Slytherin heir could relate to the plight of his little half-blood Prince, he could not deny that by virtue of blood, the Black child held more currency.

"It was given as his mother's dowry," confirmed Snape, no emotion evident in his tone.

"So it is his parents' matrimonial home, yes?" said Voldemort, his eyes glinting with hidden promise. He smiled malevolently.

"That is correct, my Lord," replied Snape. Having sensed where his master was taking the conversation, he spoke out of turn. "It is such a shame to see such a fine estate go to waste. The boy has it at his exclusive disposal and yet has never stayed a night within its walls."

"You would know this, how?" Voldemort's face darkened at the thought of having had a missed opportunity to get at the boy.

Keeping the incidence of their meeting at Order Headquarters out of the equation, the illusive double agent offered his explanation.  
"The wards, my Lord," he said, averting his gaze to bow once more in apparent contrition. "They may not grant me entrance without the knowledge of the recognised heir, but as the elder I can still sense their movements."

"Can you manipulate them at all?" said the Dark Lord, intending to know if the disgruntled heir could wreak damage or get someone else through the wards.

"I have not tried with any certainty," the Potions Master responded, keeping his head to the floor lest the man catch him in his lie.

"And the boy? What does the Order make of his location?" said the Dark Lord.

Severus straightened and strengthened his mental shields before facing his master once more.  
"They are still searching for him. I suspect they learnt of the Blood Bond and were responsible for the boy's abrupt departure from the nightclub," said Severus. "It is possible they are keeping the child in seclusion; I have not been called upon to attend a meeting since the first attack at the beginning of summer. I've been reporting directly to Dumbledore, at Hogwarts."

"Find a reason to accompany Dumbledore to his safe house next time you meet with him. If the boy is there, I want you to take decisive action," said Voldemort, leaving no room for argument. "Now what does the boy know of your claim to his parents' home? Does he believe you capable of seizing the property?"

"He is of the impression that I poisoned his mother of my own accord, seeking to reclaim my birthright before he could be born," said Severus, looking up with a genuine sneer on his face. "He refuses to believe that his own father's foolishness in choosing a wife who was sympathetic to Muggles as much as signed her death warrant after she had served her purpose in providing an heir."

Much to everyone's surprise, the Dark Lord laughed.  
"Ah, I see I have finally struck a nerve," said Voldemort happily, smiling like a cat who had just found got the canary. "Tell me, Severus, does Dumbledore still believe you to be a spy for him?"

Cautioned by this turn of events, Severus was quick to reply.  
"Of course, my Lord," he said.

"Good… good," the Dark Lord reached out and stroked the length of his familiar, Nagini, who was wound around the arm of his chair, seldom leaving his side. Hissing something to the imposing snake in Parseltongue, he smiled again at the Death Eater before him. "Now, then, I want you to go back to Dumbledore and report to him that I intend attacking the Prince estate in retaliation of the men I have lost at the boy's hand. Assuming the Order now have the child, do you think you could do that somewhere within earshot of the boy?"

"With all due respect, my Lord, the Black brat will see straight through the ruse," said Severus. "And even if he didn't, then telling Dumbledore would only decrease the boy's chances of leaving."

"Then you shall do whatever it takes to help him," said Voldemort silkily.

When the dark-haired wizard looked set to protest he shook his head slightly.  
"_Whatever_ it takes, Severus," he said in quiet warning. "If the boy does not turn up, then I will have no choice but to follow through on my threat… and I would so hate to destroy that which represents all that is pure in your blood."

"Yes, my Lord," said Severus submissively, bowing a third and final time as the Dark Lord dismissed him. He'd almost gotten away remarkably unscathed when he was hit from behind with the Dark wizard's favoured Unforgivable.

"For speaking out of turn," the malevolent wizard said, the promise of more retributions glinting in his eyes if Severus did not fulfil his latest task.

'_That boy better be at Headquarters,_' Severus Snape scowled to himself as he made a show of disguising his pain as he resumed his place in the circle. Merlin forbid how he would get word to the brat otherwise. He scowled inwardly as the Dark Lord continued issuing orders, most all of them revolving around the young Black heir; believed to be the key to finding the likes of Karkaroff and Lady Bane. The meeting ending thereafter, his movements stiffer than usual – but not noticeably so – Severus Snape began to stew.  
'_If it's not a Potter, it's a Black,_' he lamented to himself as the cousin he'd been happy to never meet unseated Potter as the new bane of his existence.


	10. A Question of Schooling

**Disclaimer**: If it were mine, I'd have encountered no difficulty visiting the printing press to 'oversee' the production of the seventh book. 

**Updated**: 27 April 2007.  
**Edited: **02 January 2008

**Chapter 10: A Question of Schooling…**

"So, what's it like? Working for the Bulgarian team?" said George Weasley in excitable curiosity as he came to stand on one side of the desk. Not many people could tell the twins apart, but Arcturus had far more accurate methods of identifying people, rather than relying on visual perceptions alone. 

"You must get really good seats at the World Cup!" his twin added, mirroring his brother's position on the other side of the desk.

"Is it true you're good friends with Krum?" the youngest Weasley brother chipped in, seeming to have forgotten all that his inquisitive nature could reward him with as he joined his brothers in badgering a 'recovered' Arcturus with questions.

The small group of teenagers had cornered the Durmstrang student in the study, spotting him taking notes from several books on Quidditch and strategy; the sight of the boy they were slightly wary of taking an interest in sport quickly dismantling the wall of intimidation that Arcturus had worked so diligently to build.

"It has its perks," said Arcturus illusively, glaring at Harry before returning his attention to his latest game plan. Ever since their conversation a couple of days earlier, Arcturus had discovered that he had a vested interest in the Boy-Who-Lived. Without his Token to meter the flow of hormones that skewed his emotions, the older boy had to concede that he was not that much unlike the Potter heir. He also realised that, with careful meditation and hormone-suppressing potions, he could recover his stoic resolve, and that assisting Harry to control his own emotions would make him a formidable ally. After all, even with the destabilising rush of hormones doctoring his mind, his uncle's godson had faced the Dark Lord three times and prospered. With a calculative perception and additional training, the kid would surely give reason to why Voldemort wanted him dead as a baby, and there was never any question that Harry shared his own desire to see the Dark Lord dead.

"Wicked!" an awed Ron went on, clearly not of mind to deduce when his presence was unwelcome. It took all of Arcturus' resolve not to retaliate when the clueless teen started looking over the notes scattered on the table. "I see you're using chess strategy as a base for these game plans… say, that's a really brilliant move!"

Arcturus looked up, undeniably surprised; not many people would be able to identify the inspiration for his game strategies. He exchanged a sidelong look at Harry, who was standing slightly behind his friend, pretending to inspect the books on the shelf. Perhaps there was more to the youngest Weasley boy than he had given credit for.

"Yes, I see they do teach something at Hogwarts after all," said Arcturus with a smirk. "I wonder… could you tell me under which circumstances this particular formation would work?"

Eagerly accepting the proffered sheet of parchment, Ron's face screwed up in serious contemplation as he studied the sketch intently. Lowering the page only moments thereafter, he looked at Arcturus unsurely.  
"Um… the Keeper on the opposing team would have to favour the right hoop, and one of their Beaters would have to be left handed," said Ron analytically. Eyes lighting up in recognition, he became slightly more sure of himself as he smiled excitedly. "This plan is for the Ballycastle Bats, isn't it? But they haven't made the play-offs…"

Undeniably impressed by Ron's deductive abilities, Arcturus leant back in his chair and decided to be a little more civil to the excitable redhead.  
"True," he admitted; "but there's every possibility they could be the Wild Card entry."

"But every team has equal chances of being drawn!" said George.

"That's why they call it a Wild Card entry!" added Fred, completing his twins' line of thought without missing a beat.

Ron spluttered.  
"Don't tell me you've considered contingences for _every_ team…"

Arcturus cocked a brow.  
"I'm paid to be prepared for anything; it's not all ringside seats and victory parties, you know," he said, fondly reminiscing on the perks that came with his job. "I'm not afraid of a little hard work."

"You get _paid_?" the three redheads spluttered, unable to fathom receiving financial restitution for doing something over half the boys in the wizarding world would give their wands for.

"Of course," said Arcturus with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Money is quite the motivator. Week to week it's only a small stipend, but when the team is in season and we win, I get bonuses."

Fred and George looked at each other decisively, seemingly communicating without words.  
"How much are we talking, here?" said Fred eagerly.

"Fred and I are the Gryffindor Quidditch Captains this year, you see," explained George.

"Not very often the captaincy goes to two people," added Fred.

"-But we've always been known to do everything together," finished George.

"If you haven't noticed already," they said in unison.

Consciously aware that his head was moving left to right as the twins finished each other's sentences, Arcturus frowned and levelled a glare at the pair.  
"Do you have a point to this little verbal spar of yours, or should I hazard a guess?" said Arcturus with a sneer; he really wanted to have all his Wild Card contingencies ready before the next practice, and with the longer owl journey to consider he was cutting it very short.

"We would like to retain your services!" the pair announced.

"You couldn't afford me," said Arcturus with a derisive snort. Pointedly, he returned his attentions back to his game plans, intent on ignoring the teens until they left him alone.

"Probably not," admitted George.

"But George 'n I have been operating a little side business for years, and have a bit saved up," said Fred.

"We were going to use the money to open a joke shop after we graduate," explained George, his eyes fleeting over to wards Harry in hidden meaning. "But if it could give our team an edge…"

"We really want to be good captains!" added Fred, cutting his brother off. "Our predecessors have left some mighty large shoes to fill…"

"Oliver Wood, that's right," said Arcturus, looking up with renewed interest. The former Gryffindor captain had been drafted by the British National Team his first year out of Hogwarts, and Arcturus made it his business to thoroughly research the attributes of all the opposing teams' recruits. Wood, as he could recall, played Keeper, and while the lad had a fair bit of work to bring himself up to international standard, was known to be a brilliant strategist; the British team having evolved their game plans shortly after the boy's admission to the team. Looking, then, at the two redheads entrusted to captain in Wood's stead, Arcturus could not overlook the advantage of studying the structure of a team where Wood had gotten his start; particularly since it was likely that the team still deployed a lot of Wood's strategies.

"You know Oliver?" spluttered Ron, eyes wide.

"I make it my business to know everyone drafted to the National League," said Arcturus boorishly. Then, returning his attention to the twins, he addressed their forward request. "Do you have Omnicular recordings of one of your matches? If I am to consider tailoring a plan for your team, I will need to assess your weaknesses and strengths…"

"You mean you'll help us?" said George, eying his twin in excitement. Arcturus did not miss the appreciative glance Fred then shot Harry's way.

"I will assess your team, and if I see potential, will consider offering some advice," said Arcturus. "But it will have to wait til the weekend, as my commitments to the Bulgarian team take precedent."

"Oh, of course, of course," said Fred reverently, backing away from the desk and bowing slightly.

"It will take us a few days to track down an Omnicular recording, anyway," said George, doing the same.

"If all else fails, Dumbledore might lend us his Pensieve," said Fred, addressing his brother as they edged out of the room.

Doubling back, George brokered the question to their (prospective) new team patron.  
"Would Pensieve memories suffice? If we can't find a suitable Omnicular recording?" he said sincerely. "There's three of our team under this roof as we speak, and we're incidentally the three who have been on the team the longest…"

"Yeah, Harry made the team in his first year," Ron pointed out helpfully, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder to where the unusually quiet teen was watching the exchange with covert interest.

"Youngest Seeker in a Century," the twins chorused, each teen making a show of patting Harry on the back as they passed, politely taking their leave to allow Arcturus to get his work done once he had nodded his assent to their alternate plan.

Seeing that he was now alone in the room with the silent Harry and imposing Arcturus, who had returned his attention back to his work and was ignoring him, Ron swallowed thickly.  
"I'll er, leave you to it, then," he said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes when Arcturus looked up at him impatiently. "Perhaps we could have a game of chess, or something, sometime… you'd have to know the game, right, in order to use its principles in Quidditch… and I've been told I'm really had to beat…"

Arcturus stared at the boy dispassionately, and said nothing. Likening the older teen's countenance to how they'd first met, Ron paled and quickly excused himself, stammering nonsensical apologies and gratitude as he backed out of the room. Noting that Harry still remained, Arcturus waved the door closed with a wandless display of ward manipulation and abandoned his work. Leaning back from the desk, he tilted his chair onto its hind legs and stretched his hands behind his head in a languid pose.  
"You're unseasonably quiet when with your peers, Harry," Arcturus observed. "Youngest Seeker in a Century, hmmm? Boy-Who-Lived… Triwizard Champion… that's quite a collection of titles for one who appears so shy in a crowd. How ironic – a bona fide celebrity who does not like attention."

Harry scoffed at the teen's sarcasm and fearlessly retaliated with some of his own.  
"Yes, well, there's no mistaking whose cousin you are!" said Harry. "My first Potions lesson, Snape sneered down his abnormally long nose at me and called me a celebrity."

Initially insulted by the comparison, Arcturus could not help but smirk at Harry's description of Snape's nose.

"Yes, he does have rather a large nose," agreed Arcturus, his lips curling into a malicious smile as he thought of all the things he could do to humiliate his cousin when next he visited Order Headquarters. "Clearly from his Muggle father's side…"

"Snape's dad was a _Muggle_?" spluttered Harry in shock.

"Yes, explains a lot, doesn't it?" said Arcturus flippantly. "Though I wouldn't suggest spreading such rumours… I suspect he's a tad touchy about it, and you wouldn't want to go through a year at school, unable to eat or drink anything for fear of reprisals."

"You seem to know him pretty well," said Harry carefully. "I thought you'd only met for the first time this summer?"

"We are not, what you would say, 'personally acquainted'," said Arcturus. "His reputation, however, precedes him. My Headmaster once travelled in the same social circles as him, and my Potions Master worked alongside him when they were studying for their Mastery together. People talk."

"Why do you hate him?" asked Harry.

"You ask that as though there is something to like about the man," said Arcturus with a touch of incredulity. "Why do _you_ all hate him so much?"

"Because he's a slimy git who hated all of us from day one," said Harry in return.

"Then there's your answer," stated Arcturus, straightening up in his chair and preparing to get back down to his work. He didn't particularly wish to implicate his cousin in his mother's death; not when the other teenagers in the house still had to attend lessons with the man.

Seeing that he was about to be dismissed – or ignored – Harry pushed back off the shelf he was leaning against and moved closer to the desk.  
"Are you really going to consider helping the Gryffindor team?" he asked tentatively, not wanting to do anything that might change the teenager's mind.

Arcturus looked up.  
"I am considering it," confirmed Arcturus. Tilting his head to one side, he narrowed his eyes. "What, did you think your little plan wouldn't work?"

"What little plan?" said Harry, feigning innocence.

"Next time you want to set someone up, Potter, you may want to consider being a little more subtle," advised Arcturus, grinning slightly. Explaining to the stunned boy, he pointed out that which had alerted him to Harry's attempts at manipulation. "Don't even bother to deny it. You were the only person in this house who knew I actually work for the Bulgarian team. I don't care about you telling your friends – if I'd wanted it kept secret I'd have approached things differently – but next time you may want to do your homework before manoeuvring your friends to do your dirty work."

"I only told them what you did," said Harry in his own defence. "Asking you for help with the team was all the twins' idea! I'd wanted no part in it, but came with them just in case they bothered you and didn't back off…"

"Ah, but you cannot deny that you would be grateful for the assistance I could offer your team," said Arcturus, toying with the teen. He didn't feel the need to point out that he was more than capable of dealing with a few persistent redheads.

"Of course I would be!" snapped Harry. "But that doesn't mean I think you should do it! What if you get Sorted into a different house?"

"What are you talking about?" said Arcturus, immediately on alert.

"When you come to Hogwarts… we get Sorted into opposing Houses. Sirius says that you're likely to go into either Ravenclaw or Slytherin," explained Harry in a rush. "If you help Gryffindor you could be paving the way for your opposing team to win!"

"Oh, how noble… sacrificing what's good for the team in favour of doing the honourable thing!" said Arcturus mockingly. "Did it not occur to you that I could be offering my assistance in order to _sabotage_ a potential rival?"

"You wouldn't!" Harry did a double-take, a look of hurt and betrayal flashing across his features.

"Relax, Harry," Arcturus said breezily, assuring the boy that he did value their budding, if strange, little understanding of each other. "I may have grown up hanging around Dark Creatures and killing Death Eaters in my spare time, but that does not preclude me from having principles. Whilst I cannot deny the appeal of studying the childhood team of an up and coming strategist such as Oliver Wood, I would never set out to actively sabotage a game. I don't believe in hollow wins."

"But if you get Sorted into a different house, and they find out you helped us, it could make things difficult for you!" said Harry in concern.

Arcturus waved his hand dismissively, cutting the boy off.  
"I wouldn't fixate on things that will never eventuate, if I were you," said Arcturus. "I assure you I've no intentions of leaving Durmstrang."

His face lighting up in realisation, Harry shook his head slowly.  
"You may want to make that clear to Sirius, then," said Harry awkwardly. "He and Dumbledore have been heard talking about your enrolment…"

Arcturus' face darkened, and for a moment Harry could see just what was so powerful about the teen that he could intimidate grown Death Eaters. Sending his books flying back to the shelves with a subtle wave of his wand, he secured his notes in a drawer of the desk and stood jerkily.  
"Thank you for disclosing such information to me," he said stiffly, not wanting to take his rising temper out on one of the few people in the house who was worthy of his time. "But if you would excuse me, it seems my uncle and I need to have a little _discussion_."

Watching the taller boy straighten his shoulders and stalk purposefully from the room, Harry shivered. Angered as he were, the forgotten Black heir radiated power as he passed, and to think of whom such displeasure was aimed at, Harry could not help but fear for his godfather.

* * *

"Absolutely not!" Arcturus roared, letting his dissention be known to the two wizards he had demanded an immediate audience with. Well, in actuality, he'd only wanted to speak of the matter with his uncle, but once the man had deduced what his nephew had been there to speak with him about, the headmaster was quickly called in.

Taking a breath, Arcturus glared at the older of the two.  
"With no disrespect to your _fine_ establishment, there is no denying that the Hogwarts curriculum is inferior to Durmstrang's own. I cannot possibly transfer!"

Indeed it were true. Arcturus was by no means trying to be rude, but there was just no ignoring that, with running classes across six days a week, longer school days in general and mandatory vocational placements in the summers, the educational diversity of Durmstrang outstripped Hogwarts. The added time dedicated to structured lessons enabled students to go into more depth in the core areas, and branch out into a wider range of co-curricular skills. To transfer a school that adopted a far more laid back approach would be detrimental to Arcturus' goals.

Having anticipated the source of Arcturus' reluctance, Dumbledore offered his concessions.  
"I assure you, Arcturus, that steps will be taken to ensure you are kept on level with your Durmstrang peers," said the old man congenially. "It is not our wish to inhibit you in any way. I regret all this change you have had to adapt to in such short a time, but with Karkaroff displaced from his position at Durmstrang and your Token removed, it is necessary."

"I can take care of myself quite well," said Arcturus archly, with a pointed look in his uncle's direction. "I've been doing it all my life."

"No one is disputing that, Arcturus," said Sirius apologetically. "But Durmstrang is dangerous for you right now. Or did you really believe that the Dark Creatures of the school would maintain their allegiance to you in the absence of your Token?"

Arcturus sucked in a gasp and forced himself to hold firm as he felt as though a rug had been torn from under him. A juvenile part of him wanted to reassure himself that the allies he had made amongst the Dark Creatures at the school were genuine, and would stay by him, but he was not oblivious to the reluctance of some of their number, of the tangible power his Token had wielded over them, giving them no choice. He suspected, then, that the Dark Creatures he consorted with at school most likely felt the same way he did when he experienced the liberation of thinking without exterior influence for the first time; so as much as he'd hated to admit it, his uncle was right.  
"Yes, well, we all know whose fault it is that I no longer have my Token!" he spat at the man, though he found that his voice held a little less malice than it would have a few days ago. His Token was gone, he was not one to dwell, and mindful of the self-control his uncle had unwittingly returned to him in removing Bane's mark, he had shifted some of his anger at Sirius towards the woman who had subtly been controlling him for years.

Visibly stung by his nephew's words nevertheless, Sirius looked at the headmaster hopelessly. Taking his cue, the headmaster popped what could only be a Muggle sweet into his mouth and smiled.  
"With your permission, Arcturus, I would like to schedule an entrance exam on the 30th, to discern just what level you are at," the old man said invitingly. At the flicker of surprise he expertly detected in the teenager's eyes, his smile widened. "I am not blind to the academic prowess of the Durmstrang alumni, dear boy! It's highly likely that you have already advanced yourself beyond the fifth year level a boy your age would normally enter in to, am I right?"

"It's difficult to say with any certainty," said Arcturus, finding it difficult to contain his surprise at the headmaster's apparent willingness to cater to his needs.  
"Though if my electives are taken into account, it is a given."

"Ah yes, about those," said Dumbledore, his expression faltering slightly. "I am afraid we do not offer such an extensive range of extra-curricular courses at Hogwarts…" – he paused dramatically – "…However, should you inform me which additional classes you were taking, I can arrange tutors for you so that you may continue at your same level. Your uncle has already agreed to meet any costs."

"I can pay my own way," said Arcturus, old habits dying hard as he struggled to think of why his uncle would want to pay for his education. Did the man feel guilty about removing his Token?

"Whether you chose to accept it or not, Arcturus, your father wanted me to be responsible for you, and though I cannot do anything to make up for the past sixteen years, I really must insist on doing this," said Sirius with a sincerity Arcturus had never heard coming from anybody, in his entire life.

"But Grandmother blasted you from the family tree! You are not the recognised heir!" he blurted, confused. Magically, all rites of inheritance still passed to Sirius, but all material means bypassed the outcast heir. "Where would you get the money to pay for all of this?"

Sirius laughed, his bark-like chuckles reverberating around the room in genuine mirth.  
"Oh Arcturus, kid, you don't think my parents paid me off before they cast me out?" he grinned. "Didn't want me blabbing to the press that the 'Ancient and Most Noble House of Black' booting out one of their own – people might have started to think there was something wrong with the bloodline…" he winked. "Besides, Uncle Alphard left me quite a tidy sum, and I was able to get a nice return on the flat I bought after graduation, now that I am stuck living here and no longer had a need for it… so I assure you I am more than able to cover things. Anything you need, really; like I told Harry, you're still a kid, and the money your parents left you should be set aside for when you graduate and want to let loose a bit."

Arcturus blinked in disbelief, unable to come to terms with the concept of someone wanting to take financial responsibility for a child that was not their own. For as long as he could remember, his guardians had squandered the allowance the Black estate had in place to provide for minor beneficiaries, and he'd always had to work to provide for himself. From the age of six he'd earned a pittance helping Igor collect fresh potions ingredients for Durmstrang on the weekends and holidays the man tutored the boy. Eventually, his skill at handling ingredients was advanced enough to take on consignments from Apocatheries that held no qualms with employing child labour. Ingredients were routinely delivered to the house, and he would prepare them as directed, dividing them into marketable portions and sending them back to the store for sale. It was a role Lucretia had found for him quite by chance, the woman positively gleeful at the possibility of extorting even more money out of her great nephew and suddenly accepting of the 'wasteful' hours he spent getting educated by Igor. Fortunately, the shady Knockturn Alley woman who had employed him was savy enough to see Lucretia for who she was, and had been rather insistent about giving her employee control of his own wages. His earnings went directly into his private vault, and it drove Lucretia to make him pay for all of his own food and clothing, at least he was getting what he was paying for... which was more than what he could say for the proceeds his guardian received from the Black trust each month, for the purposes of maintaining him. By the time he had began his schooling at Durmstrang, he had enough money saved up to buy a nice set of robes; the rest of his immediate school needs deducted directly from his family's trust. His appearance, together with the impressive gifts Esmerelda would habitually bestow upon him, enabled him to collect money for tutoring his fellow students without letting it be known that he truly needed the money. Fortunately, Lucretia had died that same year and in the absence of a guardian he had been able to take control of his allowance, so not many people could recall a time when he only had two spare sets of robes and had not furnished himself with the best broom or chest set. By that time, the fulfilment of working hard had never left him and he'd come to prefer earning what he spent. With his current position with the Bulgarian Team, he'd not had to touch his allowance for nearly two years.

"What's the catch," said Arcturus warily, knowing from experience that nothing came without its price.

"There's no catch," said Sirius in a tone that suggested otherwise.

"Though neither of us would be object if you were to invite some of your new friends to your extra classes… help them along, as such," said Dumbledore leadingly, the man clearly meaning Harry. "You tutored the younger students at Durmstrang, did you not?"

Arcturus' head whipped up in alarm, as he wondered how the man could possibly have found that out.  
"Your former teachers were quite happy to speak with me once I had explained the situation," explained Dumbledore. "They are quite sorry to see you go. Your uncle was really quite proud to learn that you were one of Durmstrang's top students."

Arcturus looked to his uncle in question to see the man averting his gaze and blushing slightly. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut as he faced an altogether unfamiliar situation – no one, except perhaps Igor, had ever expressed their pride in him, and Igor had certainly not boasted about it to others. Caught off guard, Arcturus was stunned to note that he had no idea how to counter such a revelation.

He settled for silence.

When it became clear that the adults were waiting him to respond to their proposal, however, he sighed.  
"How am I to be expected to keep up with my Durmstrang peers if other students in my class are learning the material for the first time?" he pointed out, not seeing a benefit in employing tutors if he was to be taught alongside students effectively several years behind him.

Sirius and Dumbledore exchanged a look.

"Perhaps I should rephrase," said Dumbledore. "I did not intend to suggest that you would be sharing a tutor with those less experienced than you. If others want to learn, they will have their own class scheduled, I was merely hoping that you might consider helping them along, between sessions… make yourself available as a sparring partner for demonstrations… little things like that."

"Headmaster, I don't know if you are aware, but I am currently contracted to the Bulgarian National Quidditch team," said Arcturus. "Between my own lessons and team commitments I am afraid that I won't have any time left to tutor anyone…"

"I was unaware of your employment, but had otherwise taken into consideration the time needed to adjust to a new school," said Dumbledore, reaching into his robes and pulling out a long chain. "Do you know what this is?"

"A Time Turner," said Arcturus, torn. On one hand, he wanted to jump at the chance to exploit the benefits of a Time Turner, but he was wary of what might be expected of him in return. He was also not entirely sure if he wanted to leave the familiar environment of Durmstrang at such an important stage in the war; he did not know his way around Hogwarts, for a start, and doubted he'd have the patience to tutor some of its undisciplined students.

He shook his head.

"While it's a perfectly amenable proposal, I fear I must decline," said Arcturus levelly. "I do not deny the dissent the absence of my Token may cause amongst the Dark Creature population of Durmstrang, but I assure you that it is not within school policy to offer refuge to those who seek to harm a student. It would be difficult to no longer think of them as my allies, but I would be perfectly safe. From your own observations I am sure you can see that Headmaster Karkaroff is not the only teacher I drew the favour of; I am confident that the alumni would not let me down should I find myself in a dangerous situation."

The two older wizards exchanged another look, and Arcturus was suddenly aware that there was something they weren't telling him.  
"What aren't you telling me?" he asked suspiciously.

"A lot has transpired at Durmstrang since you finished classes for the summer," said Dumbledore gravely. "I am afraid you will find more than one familiar face amongst the crowds of students at the Welcoming Feast."

"The new headmaster has forced out all of Durmstrang's Muggleborn students," explained Sirius. "You'll not be the only transfer."

Arcturus' eyes went wide, but before he could utter a response, Dumbledore cut in with the news that would clinch it for him.  
"Several of your Durmstrang teachers have also chosen to leave the school," the old man informed him. "They were understandably reluctant to leave, but wished to assist their students transition into a new learning environment."

"Which teachers?" said Arcturus, already knowing of the handful of Muggleborn students in question… most of whom he knew had only gone to Durmstrang because their shaky grasp of English precluded them from enrolling anywhere else and Durmstrang was the only school on the continent that conducted is classes in three languages.

"Defence, History and Ancient Runes," said Dumbledore, confirming Arcturus' suspicion that only the half-blooded staff would follow their Muggleborn students.

"The new headmaster… he's a Death Eater, isn't he?" Arcturus said hatefully, dismayed to envision the school he loved under the thumb of a Death Eater who genuinely sought to harm. At Dumbledore's nod, he scowled. "You do realise what this could mean for the neutrality of the Dark Creatures, don't you?"

The headmaster's aged look said it all. Whilst Igor Karkaroff had been inclined to believe the Dark Lord defeated and made no move to preach the Dark wizard's values to anyone, another Death Eater in the same position of power would likely hold the Dark Creature's place at Durmstrang ransom. If the half-breed residents of the school aligned themselves with the Dark Lord, it would only be a matter of time before the mainstream numbers followed. Suddenly a spark of Arcturus' anger returned, and he glared at his uncle with incredulity.  
"Knowing all this, you still took away my Token?" he said loudly. "I could have prevented them from turning to _his_ side!"

"We were well aware of the potential benefits of keeping you bound," said Dumbledore. "However, your uncle did not wish to deprive you of what is left of your childhood by placing you in such a position…"

"I haven't been a _child_ since I was five years old!" said Arcturus coolly, unable to suppress the shudder that rose up from within.

Bristling at the implications inherent in the boy's tone, Sirius shook his head in frustration and gesticulated widely with his hands.  
"Yes, well it's done now… unless you want to volunteer yourself to go back under Bane's thumb," said Sirius. At the boy's silence, he looked grim. "I thought not."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I care to answer to the likes of the pair of you!" Arcturus retorted petulantly. Nowhere near as noble as the likes of his uncle or any of the members of the infamous Gryffindor house that he had met, Arcturus could not deny that he was glad to be free of Esmerelda's influence. That said, there was a war to be won, a war he had a vested interest in, and Arcturus did not appreciate it when others tried to decide what was best for him, by preventing his involvement at every turn. He was not stupid… he could see straight through the headmaster's veiled machinations; he knew that the man was hoping that teaching others to fight would give him the same sense of fulfilment that working in the field did. If he were honest with himself, he could see the merit in arming others with the skills necessary to win the war, but he openly resented the idea of having to answer to somebody; years of being self-sufficient making him resistant to assistance. If he did anything, he wanted it to be on his terms.

The headmaster's voice became firm.  
"Should you accept a place at my school, I expect that you will observe the same rules as the other students," said Dumbledore. "Manage that, and the situation will not be any different to your years at Durmstrang… and I assure you that the rules are more or less in the same vein."

Sirius looked contrite.  
"Listen, kid, I can hardly expect you to answer to me at all after being out of your life for so long," said Sirius. "I grew up as a Black too, you know, so I know that trust and respect are things to be earned, not assumed. I'm sorry if my actions have cramped your style, but I _am_ new at this, and only want to help keep you not-dead."

"Oh, how eloquent," a voice sneered from the doorway, the arrival of his universally loathed cousin beating Arcturus to the punch.

"What do you want, _Snivellus_?" leered Sirius, standing up. "Couldn't you tell from the closed door that this was a private meeting?"

Upon hearing what name his uncle had given his cousin and seeing how the man handled their mutual foe, Arcturus could not help but smile appreciatively, inwardly allowing his respect for Sirius increase just a notch. Long ago, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus had told his descendent that his character bore similarities to both his father and uncle before him, and now he was beginning to see how. Filled with another unfamiliar sensation in his gut, Arcturus' eyes shone with mirth and he leered at his cousin in as much the same way as his uncle was doing beside him.

"Oh haven't you got your new little toy trained well," retorted Snape, noting the pair's matching expressions. "I shall take great joy in wiping that smirk off your face, boy…"

Arcturus eyed the man up and down and cocked a brow in challenge, the smirk never leaving his features even after he'd recognised the man's Death Eater robe.  
"What's the matter, Pinocchio, you do enough snivelling at the Dark Lord's feet you have to come crawling in here in search of someone to intimidate to make yourself feel better?" he said venomously, inwardly thanking Harry for the rather apt Muggle reference of the big-nosed wooden puppet. With a Muggle father, Snape would have to understand the insult. "Tell me, does it make you feel big to prey upon the impressionable minds of 11 year olds? Do you not realise that all the students _laugh_ at you behind your back? Oh yes, I've heard _all about_ you…"

"Enough!" shouted Snape, drawing his wand at the boy and holding it in his hand shakily as he refrained from using it. Already, his inability to control his temper had earned him a frown from his mentor and growl from his childhood foe; if the two Blacks were to retaliate by taking him on together, Dumbledore would not be able to get him out unscathed. He lowered his wand.

"Oooh… big man with the wand…" teased Arcturus, grinning madly as he watched his cousin restrain himself from reacting. Turning serious, he narrowed his eyes. "Don't even think of trying to attack me when my back's turned, Snape, I wouldn't want to be held accountable for my actions and would so hate for my new school to lose their Potions Master."

Just as Arcturus had hoped, Severus Snape was caught off guard.

"New school?" he snapped, his cold obsidian orbs darting towards the headmaster for confirmation. When the old wizard did not deny the boy's words, he fumed. "Albus! I cannot teach this boy!"

"Ah, but you will, Severus," said Dumbledore swiftly, in a tone that left no room for argument. Dimly, the Death Eater double agent was reminded distinctly of his latest conversation with the Dark Lord, and he levelled a glare at the boy who caused it all as the Headmaster turned to address the new student in question. "And Arcturus, you will show your cousin the respect befitting of a teacher, or you will incur the consequences like any other student."

"He's not my teacher _yet_," Arcturus pointed out glibly. "I will treat him however the hell I like in the interim. Like my uncle just said, respect is something that has to be earned, not assumed. And unless he wants me to cause a scene and hex his arse, he'll stay away from me in class – I've heard from all the others how he singles out the students he dislikes, and I warn you now that I will not stand for it, irrespective of the consequences."

Whilst Dumbledore sighed and Snape scowled, Sirius looked as though he were simultaneously giddy with glee and depressed that he would not be present to witness his nephew put Snape in his place in front of the student body. Taken by how his uncle's eyes glistened with undeniable pride, Arcturus almost missed the headmaster's next words.  
"Very well," said Dumbledore, looking to both cousins in warning. "Arcturus, I can see you feel very strongly about this, but must insist that, once classes begin, you do nothing that would encourage your fellow students to disrespect your Potions Professor –" he looked at the teacher in question "-In turn I will ensure that you are not provoked… for any infractions will still incur a loss of house points and detention."

"And what if he deliberately provokes me so that I incur this 'loss of house points and detention'?" said Arcturus, fully prepared to take either punishment in his stride but not liking the idea of his cousin getting away with setting him up. "Would you take away his Potions kit and send him off to bed without supper like a naughty little boy?"

Sirius sniggered at his nephew's creativity, but sobered immediately when Dumbledore shot him an exasperated look.  
"Don't worry, kid," said Sirius, slapping his hand on his nephew's shoulder and, in a display that all were certain Dumbledore did not have in mind when he'd silently asked the boy's legal guardian to intervene, smiled mischievously and whispered into the boy's ear, careful to keep out of earshot of the other two wizards. "If _Snivellus_ gets you into trouble, just ask the Weasley twins about the legend of the Marauders."

Whether the elder Black had meant to or not, he had said the last word, 'Marauders' loud enough for Snape to hear. The outnumbered Potions Master catching the fugitive's eyes as the man backed away from his nephew, he knew that he had been meant to hear the cursed word. Heeding the threat, and steeling himself for an agonising year of pranks he would not be able to pin anybody for, he sneered in disgust at the two Blacks before drawing attention to the reason for his intrusion.

"Headmaster," he said, forgoing the usual preamble that would see the room cleared before he began his report. The Dark Lord had wanted the boy to know of the proposed attack, after all, and Severus was not about to deny himself the opportunity to see that cocky grin wiped from the infernal brat's face. The older Black, too, would undoubtedly be shaken up by the revelation that his precious new nephew had drawn so much of the Dark Lord's undivided attention. It was now his turn to smirk.

"The Dark Lord has scheduled an attack on Black's home in an effort to draw the boy out," he said, savouring every syllable.

"Impossible! This place is under Fidelius! He'd never draw Harry out that way!" spluttered Sirius, a flicker of worry betraying itself on his face as he considered the idea of the most dangerous wizard alive devoting so much thought and time to tracking down his godson.

"Oh relax, Black, the whole world does not revolve around precious Potter," hissed Snape, his eyes looking pointedly at Arcturus, who caught on immediately. "Perhaps I should have mentioned first that your nephew's actions of late have not escaped the Dark Lord's attention."

Sirius looked between his nephew and foe in disbelief.  
"Arcturus? He wants to draw Arcturus out?" he ran a shaky hand through his hair and shook his head. "But what home are you talking about? Arcturus has lived here all his life and my point still stands about the Fidelius…"

"He means my parents' home," said Arcturus astutely, glaring at his cousin. "Prince Manor. Am I right, Snape?"

At Snape's nod, Sirius visibly relaxed.  
"So we go slap a Fidelius on it, easy!" shrugged Sirius.

"To do that both the home's legal owner and prospective Secret Keeper will have to walk the perimeter of the property's wards and cast the charm," said Severus. "The Dark Lord has no doubt anticipated this and placed people outside the boundaries accordingly."

"Yes, but he can't have anticipated that you would have gotten word to me so quickly," observed Arcturus, squaring his shoulders purposefully, as though preparing to leave. "I say we perform the charm now, before the window of opportunity closes. Worse comes to worse there's a Death Eater or two lying in wait and I take 'em down. I don't see what the problem is with that."

"It's a trap, that's what the problem is!" said Sirius uneasily. "While I agree that it'd be better to cast the Fidelius sooner rather than later, we cannot possibly scramble the numbers together to defend the house – and you – should they be waiting already! Not at a moment's notice, like this!"

"Who said anything about going there en masse?" said Arcturus. "I highly doubt Voldemort can spare the resources any more than we can. It's likely that he's just set up a marker to alert him when a number of people arrived to safeguard the place."

"The boy's right," Snape interjected in a strangled tone of reluctant admission. Whilst many people were quick to assume that the Dark Lord's followers favoured an ambush, the truth remained that the Dark Mark enabled the Dark Lord to forcibly Apparate his minions into battle without warning the moment his probe had detected a satisfying number of victims. The boy had clearly done his homework. He continued sourly. "It is quite possible that a small number… one or two… could slip in undetected. The Dark Lord won't have anticipated that you would send in the boy, and his Secret Keeper, alone."

There was no disputing this: it went against everything they stood for to even consider sending the boy into such a perilous situation, no matter how well-versed he happened to be in battle. But they could not deny that the Potions Master had a point.  
"Who would you have be your Secret Keeper, then," said Sirius tiredly, rubbing at his brow furiously as though to stave off a tension headache. "It could only be me, right, cause you couldn't possibly trust Snape, and Dumbledore'd likely set off this marker of Voldemort's… I think I remember how the charm goes…"

Arcturus cut his uncle off, something in the man's words sparking an idea in his mind. He looked at Snape calculatingly.  
"You're right, Uncle," he said, duly suspecting that his reluctant relation would be secretively salivating over the thought of sending the last two Blacks off to face Death Eaters alone, loyalty to Dumbledore or not. "I don't trust Snape as far as I can throw him… but he's got just as much of an interest in that house as I do."

"What are you saying?" said Sirius, narrowing his eyes at his nephew, seeing where the teen was steering things but not wanting to believe it.

"I want Snape to be the Secret Keeper of Prince Manor," he said decisively. "Think of it as a test, if you will… if anything happens to me, you'll at least know what side he's on…"

'_Not to mention it's going to really mess with the git's head to be in a position to turn me in but not be able to do it,'_ he added inwardly, smirking knowingly at the despised man. In the very least, he knew that the reviled Potions Master would not want to see the last vestige of his blood's pureblooded nobility razed to the ground. What simple-minded, half-blood Death Eater would? Snape may be a so-called spy, but he had started out a Death Eater… his turnabout for Dumbledore's benefit likely had more to do with self-preservation than any actual change of heart. At least Igor had the decency to bow out entirely and go to ground when the water got too hot; the death of his friend Regulus starting a chain reaction to what would ultimately lead to his defection.

"Absolutely not!" shouted Sirius, clearly not putting it past Snape to 'lose' the boy in the process and claim it had been unpreventable.

"What happened to not cramping my style?" said Arcturus challengingly.

"I'm trying to keep you in one piece!" said Sirius in exasperation.

"With all due respect, Uncle, I've managed to do that myself for nearly sixteen years," Arcturus pointed out. "I doubt that just because you are now here, my judgement is suddenly going to endanger me. I know what I am doing."

Sirius searched his nephew's eyes for a good few moments before bowing his head in defeat.  
"Fine," he ground out, giving his assent. "Go cast the Fidelius with Snape… but Snape, by Merlin I am warning you, if he gets so much as one scratch I am not going to hesitate earning my life sentence in Azkaban!"

"Has anyone told you how feral you get when you're mad?" said Arcturus playfully, inwardly heartened by the man's protective streak. "It's no wonder your Animagus is a dog…"

"Sod off, you, unless you want me to change my mind," snapped Sirius, sounding pretty close to doing just that. He looked to Dumbledore for help, but was on his own once he saw the mad twinkling in the man's eyes. Afterwards, once the maternally related pair had left, the old man would tell him that the venture was sound… a wonderful way for the two estranged cousins to learn to work together and get over their trust issues. Sirius was not afraid to voice his suspicion that the consumption of one too many Lemon Drops had done more than just rot the old man's teeth.


	11. True Colours

**Disclaimer**: Nope, the publisher never responded to my pleas to issue a retraction of the last third of OotP. 

**Updated: **April 27 2007  
**Edited: **January 02 2008

**Chapter 11: True Colours**

When it had been concluded that the shift in magical energy caused by two people Apparating into any given location would be negligible enough to avoid detection, no one had given any thought to a certain tattoo on Severus Snape's arm. Whether those likely to know had simply overlooked this fact or wilfully detracted from it, observers would forever be unsure; but as hindsight would illustrate, one thing was resoundingly clear: Voldemort had _known_ the moment Severus Snape had arrived at Prince Manor.

Generally speaking, the creator of the most feared symbol in the wizarding world could not readily exploit the Mark to shadow those that wore it. After all, the nature of the Dark Mark was to call people to him – not the other way around. If he focused particularly hard on a specific person, the Dark Lord may be able to discern their location within a vague proximity, but with the likelihood of his followers resorting to topical potions, warding and assorted charms to befuddle the link when they did not wish to be found, he did not rely on such methods. When, however, Severus Snape arrived within the geographical vicinity of his ancestral home, Voldemort had received the signal he had been watching for.

"Greyback, Avery, McNair, Nott…" Voldemort called each name aloud as he touched his wand to the Dark Mark on Pettigrew's arm, summoning each of his strongest to meet him at the matrimonial home of Regulus & Eleanor Black. Shoving the podgy arm in his grip away once he was done, he hissed at his most redundant of servants. "You… Wormtail… shall ssstay."

"Y-y-yes Master," Peter Pettigrew, former Marauder come betrayer quivered under the scrutiny of the powerful Dark wizard. On one distinctly Gryffindorish level, the mocked traitor yearned to join his Dark brethren in the field and prove his worth, but since to do that might mean confronting those that he had betrayed, he could never bring himself to leave the security of his Master's compound. Knowing this, Voldemort and his men treated the rat Animagus with condescension and contempt; to his fellow Death Eaters Wormtail was regarded as nothing more than a common House Elf, and to Voldemort, his arm was most convenient for the painful process of calling meetings.

Alighting from his chair and billowing out the creases in his robes with an intuitive display of wandless magic, Voldemort did not give his lowest minion another thought as he strode past the unkempt wizard, Disapparating mid-step.

* * *

"But Snape, we have to walk the _outside_ of the perimeter if the Fidelius is going to take hold!" Arcturus argued with the taller man in frustration, having levelled a glare at the wizard who had just physically halted his progress. They'd Apparated to a point outside the main house moments earlier, and had been making their way towards the hedging that outlined the property when the older man had thrust out his arm and stopped them both in their tracks.

"Shut up, you foolish boy!" hissed Severus as the tell-tale burn that warmed through his arm at the arrival of the Dark Lord warned him a moment too late: they had been spotted.

"Well done, Severus, well done!" said Voldemort from the boundary line, which he could not cross without invitation. "I must say that you have truly outdone yourself this time; you shall surely be rewarded for exceeding my expectations and delivering the boy in such a timely fashion! Though I might have suspected that threatening to destroy your mother's childhood home would motivate you."

Face to face with his parents' killer for the first time in his life, Arcturus bristled with barely controlled anger. He would have been equally enraged at the man beside him if not for the slight shudder that his eyes detected rippling through his cousin at the sight of Lord Voldemort.  
'_He didn't know…_' Arcturus thought abstractly, regarding his cousin's side profile with a barely noticeable tilt of his head. Immediately realising the ramifications of such a situation – that Severus would be in trouble with either side no matter which way he played it – Arcturus decided to take matters into his own hands. Knowing that he and Snape were protected from the ring of Death Eaters so long as they remained within the property's wards, he turned his back on the Dark wizards and confronted his cousin; intending to make it physically impossible for the man to move forward.

Addressing the man by every derogatory term he could think of, Arcturus could almost forget that he even had an audience as he let his cousin have it. If the observing Death Eaters found the display convincing, it would be because he meant most all of it. Quickly tiring of the spectacle, the Dark Lord took a step forward, fruitlessly testing his boundaries, and issued his order.  
"When you are quite done listening to the boy belittle you, Severus, bring him to me," said the evil wizard, his tone of voice suggesting that Severus had a choice in the matter, though his expression clearly stated otherwise.

Hearing the words of his 'Master', Severus flinched, and he tore his attention away from the teenager's tirades. Inwardly, his mind raced for a solution, the analytical wizard critically weighing out their options. A lot of the boy's accusations held merit – Severus' actions were indeed metered by a singular need for self-preservation – and he now had to choose which side would serve him best at that moment. To defy the Dark Lord in his very company would not ensure survival, and yet to comply and hand the boy over would be like signing his own arrest warrant. It was an impossible choice to make, and as he watched the band of Death Eaters around Voldemort test the limitations of the manor's wards like a pack of predatory lizards, he found that he was presented with an alternative. Was there a way that he could possibly stall leaving the sanctity of the property's boundary line long enough to allow help to arrive, but not so long that it drew the Dark Lord's suspicion?

Though Severus' conclusion took barely a flicker of time to be drawn, it was a fraction too late – Arcturus had already decided for them both.  
"Expelliarmus!" the boy yelled, drawing his wand on his cousin and smirking in satisfaction when his opponent reacted to the movement and defended himself without hesitation. Little would either of them realise at the time, but they had both reached the same conclusion – to stall and stay on the safe side of the wards – only Arcturus been a lot more forward in his approach.

"Draw him towards the boundary!" Voldemort ordered, his eyes shining in glee as he watched the pair duel. He had heard many stories from his followers about the boy, about how he fought at the helm of the Dark Lady's personal army, but to see the child in action with his own eyes defied all of his expectations. Arrogantly, he realised now that he had placed too much stock in the boy's Token, having assumed that the child was merely an inactive figurehead who could not be touched on account of the creatures protecting him. But watching him now, it was quickly apparent that the boy could hold his own, and the opportunistic wizard was already thinking of ways in which he could capitalise on the young man's potential.  
"Do not harm him," he added to Severus. Under the right influences, Arcturus Black could become a powerful tool indeed.

Severus was almost too caught up in trying to defend himself against a most unlikely attack that he'd almost missed the Dark Lord's secondary command. He didn't let it show, but the man's order had surprised him, the way the Dark wizard had spoken of his search for the boy during the last Death Eater meeting had suggested nothing less than a grisly fate for the teenager. Deflecting another cutting curse, Severus tried to mount a counter attack that would keep them a safe distance away from the property's boundaries. At first, he had parried the boy's attempt to disarm him with a half-hearted defence, believing that the child did not intend to harm, but it quickly became apparent that either Arcturus Black was not holding back, or he had ability none could have predicted; Severus was breaking a sweat just to keep his ground, something he could never remember doing.

In a truer sense, it was Prince versus Prince, the line's defining prowess for battle revealing itself in spectacular fashion.

Surprised to find himself faced with a competent sparring partner in his aloof second cousin, Arcturus ignored the blood dripping down his arm as a Cutting Curse glanced his bicep and upped the ante. He tried to subtly convey to the man his plans, but was quick to note that the loathsome Potions Master was too proud to take the fall.  
'_You damn fool! I do not wish to kill you!'_ he inwardly screamed at the man, locking eyes with him in a fierce battle of wills. '_Just take the damn fall!'_

It was true. Arcturus didn't quite understand why, but he did not want to see this man's role in the war compromised. Igor had only ever told him vague things about the slippery Death Eater, and even before the man had been implicated in his mother's death, Arcturus had hated him for the simple fact of the symbol he wore on his arm. But now things had changed… had Severus Snape willingly and knowingly produced the potion that killed his mother instead of assisting her for reasons of furthering his claim to the ancestral Prince legacy, and not simply acted on an order he had no choice but to obey, then it stood to reason that the man would have attempted to overpower him upon their arrival, instead of trying to warn him of Voldemort's presence.

Making his choice, then, Arcturus drew on the art Esmerelda had taught him; it was not something he visited often on account of the debilitating toll the magic took on his mortal body. Waving his wand in a slashing fashion, he drew an 'X' in the air and uttered a single word. The Curse that was then unleashed upon his victim did not originate from the tip of his wand, nor could it be avoided. Radiating from his magical core, the brilliant blue light pulsated from every pore in his body, rushing out to envelope Snape before the other man could even blink. At first, it appeared as though all the spell did was cast its target in an ethereal glow, rendering them unable to attack, but a simple flick of Arcturus' hand proved otherwise; sending Severus flying into the air and slamming into the foundation stone of the house, over 50 feet away.

Hoping that the impact did not do any permanent damage, Arcturus closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steel himself before facing his real enemy. He'd just played his trump card to save Snape's own, and he was spent. His hands shaking from the earlier exertion, Arcturus knew that it would be suicide to carry on in his current state; he could only hope and pray that the wards held.  
"You will not destroy this home!" he yelled commandingly.

"You will give me what I want," Voldemort countered. "Or I will do what I want."

"That which my father died for is worth more than mere bricks and mortar," said Arcturus scathingly, approaching the edge of the wards but careful not to breach the protective barrier.

Voldemort smiled chillingly.  
"Your father died because of his own stupidity, however I will agree that the item he stole from me is far more valuable than any building," said the Dark wizard. "But you are in no position to bargain with that which does not belong to you. Your parents have already died for your father's treachery. Return what is mine and I may let you live."

"And what of the lives I have taken from you?" sneered Arcturus, not giving an inch.

"Sorting the weak from the strong," said Voldemort dismissively. "They would have let me down in the long run. I'd almost consider it a favour."

"Oh, so you won't mind if I take some more, then?" said Arcturus cockily, realising that whilst the wards prevented the Death Eaters entrance, they did not stop his own spells hitting their targets.

Two Death Eaters fell before any could react. Stopping the moment Voldemort dealt a damaging blow to the property's wards, Arcturus took a step back in caution. It then occurred to him that if his own magic could penetrate the barrier, then it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord managed to get through the estate's defences. In all the commotion, though, he'd failed to notice the presence – and then absence – of one particular enemy; the consequences of such not apparent until it was too late.  
"Greyback!" Arcturus snarled at the uncouth man beast, the man Apparating beside the Dark Lord with a small child in his arms, swaddled in a thin blanket. The girl was no more than 7 or 8, and, awoken by the sudden relocation, began to scream hysterically.

Darting forward in alarm, Arcturus skidded to a halt right on the edge of the wards.  
"Leave the Muggle out of this!" he bellowed. He knew the girl was a Muggle for the simple fact that the child seemed to have been snatched right from her bed, and no self-respecting wizarding family would leave their child's bedroom unprotected against uninvited guests. He brandished his wand at the feral man. "You wish to challenge me, then step forth and I'll take you down one by one…"

"Not the tune you were singing when you and Bane's little posse of night-crawlers outnumbered my men 4 to 1," sneered Greyback, tightening his hold on the struggling girl in unspoken threat. He leant down and sniffed the terrified child, like a wolf might its prey. "Ah… fear. There's nothing more intoxicating. Tell me, boy, how brave are you without your wards and your Tokens, hmmm? Care to let me sniff you?"

"You're an animal, Greyback," said Arcturus in disgust. "Let the girl go and I'll consider allowing you through the wards. Then we'll see who carries the scent of fear."

"Well done, Fenrir," said Voldemort, pleased. "Who'd have thought the unloved little Black would have compassion…"

Arcturus froze, inwardly cursing himself for being so transparent. His weaknesses were few, but readily exploited once exposed, and that such vulnerability could reveal itself at such a critical moment chilled him to the core. For if there were one thing that Arcturus Black could not overlook, it was the terrorising of the defenceless – children in particular. Such a belief, he reasoned, was what set him apart from the enemy; no matter how many Death Eaters he ruthlessly took down, or how many Dark creatures he consorted with, he'd steer clear of Darkness so long as he remembered to protect the weak.

But sometimes, even the strong could not be saved.

It was an impossible situation… either give the Dark Lord what he wanted, and lose everything anyway, or make a necessary sacrifice and live to fight another day. As loath as Arcturus was to admit it, there was no way the Dark Lord would permit him to walk away with the child, unscathed; the girl was dead as soon as Greyback had made the random decision to steal her from her bed. No, the only choice he now had was whether or not the unfortunate girl was to have a painful death, or a quick one.

A hard set look darkening his features, Arcturus gripped his wand tightly and pointed it at the writhing bundle in Greyback's arms. With any luck, the spell would miss and hit the werewolf instead, but Arcturus' main goal was to diffuse their hold over him and deny them what they wanted… at any cost.  
"You'll have to try better than that," he spat, as the green beam of light impacting with the girl caused Fenrir Greyback to stagger back and drop the body in surprise.

"Ah, a _merciful_ death," mocked Voldemort, looking from the lifeless form on the ground to the determined teenager beyond his reach. "But rather apt. What I am asking of you is, after all, far more important than a filthy Muggle girl…"

"What's to say I haven't already destroyed it?" said Arcturus leadingly.

"I'd have felt it," said Voldemort silkily, though Arcturus knew the man was bluffing. "Besides, you would not have wanted to destroy your only bargaining tool."

"Or maybe I'm still looking for an effective way to dispose of it," suggested Arcturus. He glared at the Dark Lord coldly. "You have nothing I would want to bargain for."

"How about your life… your home?" said Voldemort smoothly.

"You kill me and you'll _never_ find it," threatened Arcturus truthfully. Then, turning towards the house he'd never technically called home, he aimed his wand at the front door and muttered a spell under his breath.

To anyone who was not aware of the complex Disillusionment Charm Arcturus had constructed during his previous visit, the house appeared to implode before their very eyes; the wand movement and incantation that left the boy's lips synonymous with a powerful destruction spell. What they didn't see, however, was Arcturus' blood spilling into the earth, and how it had identified him as the Master of the household. He had been in the process of trying to identify and replicate some of the complex Notice-Me-Not Charms on the Black family's Grimmauld Place stronghold when he'd come across an easily overlooked variant that was, essentially, a cheap parlour trick. His destructive spell, therefore, had in fact become a password; one that, when cast in conjunction with his blood being spilt, would activate the Disillusionment Charm that gave the appearance of a house reduced to rubble.

Arcturus didn't think it would fool the Dark Lord for long, though that he had just killed a Muggle in order to remain uncompromised could only lend currency to his apparent willingness to destroy part of his family's legacy. In the least, Arcturus was simply hoping to have the enemy leave long enough so that he could complete the Fidelius, thus preventing the house from becoming a target – a weakness – again.

"You are one determined boy," sneered Voldemort in frustration as he bought into the illusion before him. "But you cannot possibly be willing to sacrifice _all_ that you hold dear, and believe me I will stop at nothing to recover what is mine."

"I would never condone you killing people in the name of extortion," said Arcturus philosophically. "But we are war, and with battle comes collateral damage. I'll not hold myself responsible for what is ultimately your decision. I doubt, after all, that you feel any shred of accountability for the Death Eater's whose lives have been taken from them because they bear the Mark you gave them."

Voldemort could not cover his surprise.  
"I would not have thought such thinking possible by one who served the interests of the Light," he said imploringly. "May I suggest an alternative to this pointless enmity?" – he paused for effect – "Join me."

Choosing not to point out that he only ever set out to serve the interests of himself, Arcturus glared at the Dark wizard who'd dared to suggest that he overlook the crimes that had been committed upon his family by joining the wizard responsible for his parent's deaths.  
"You're the reason my parents are dead," he pointed out. "I will never join you."

Voldemort smiled victoriously, causing Arcturus to immediately feel uneasy.  
"Not even if I told you that I could bring them back?" he said saccharinely.

Arcturus faltered in his response, and immediately hated himself for it. He cursed himself for allowing the Dark Lord to pick up on another of his weaknesses, and reminded himself that his parents would never possibly care or respect him if he'd paid such a price to get either of them back.  
"I would take my own life before I'd bring my parents back and have them see me at your side," he said coldly, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin in defiance.

"If that's the case, then perhaps I ought to bring them back regardless," threatened Voldemort, his red eyes flashing with dangerous impatience. "And we shall see just how much you value your family."

Unable to help himself, Arcturus went rigid. Inwardly, his mind was going a million miles an hour, trying to definitively discern whether or not the man was telling the truth. Surely if there truly were a way to bring a person back to life, then Voldemort would not be the only wizard knowledgeable or powerful enough to do it. A spell would have to be documented somewhere, in which case Arcturus would likely have located it; his one childhood dream being, after all, finding a way to have them back. Taking a deep breath, he decided to call the old man's bluff.  
"Very well then," he said flippantly. "Bring both my parents back and I might consider it a fair trade."

Taking the seriousness in the boy's tone at face value, Voldemort's face lit up in challenge, his mind undoubtedly concocting ways in which he could temporarily fool the boy into thinking he had his parents back. Before he could even consider the fact that the parentless teenager was not as blinded by his desire as an orphan – in his experience – ought to be, he nodded in acknowledgement and gestured for his Death Eaters to depart.  
"Very well then, Arcturus Black," said Voldemort congenially once they were alone. "May we have terms."

"May we have terms," said Arcturus sardonically, repeating the words that, in traditional circles, were symbolic of a verbal agreement being considered.

Once the Dark Lord had Disapparated back to whatever rock he had crawled out from under, Arcturus took the chance to cross the wards and deal with the dead they'd left behind. After checking that the two Death Eater's he'd felled were in fact dead, he banished their bodies to their respective ancestral homes, saving the child til last. Normally, when he had been in battle with Esmerelda's crew, he would just leave the bodies as they lay and let the Ministry pull their weight in picking up after him, but on this occasion he really wanted to avoid his own ancestral home becoming overrun by the M.L.E Department. Strictly speaking, one could not _legally_ place an Undetectable Charm over a piece of property without registering the location with an Unspeakable and obtaining a Ministry permit. All too aware of the spies Voldemort had in place throughout all levels of government, Arcturus was not about to draw any attention to his plans, and giving the Ministry cause to investigate the land immediately surrounding the Prince estate would surely prove to be a hindrance.

Wiping a stray piece of hair out of his eyes, Arcturus took a deep breath and crouched down besides the unmoving form. Closing his eyes, the haunted teen cleared his mind of the horrors the sight before him reminded him of. It had been eight years since he'd last seen the corpse of a child, and though this girl appeared only to be sleeping, the mere instance of her passing and likeness of her age could not help but draw the deeply buried image of _her _mangled body to mind. That it had been Greyback who had invariably led this little girl to her death only served to twist the knife in a little deeper…

"The lesser of two evils," he whispered to himself as he gazed over the untouched, but dead, girl; the image of Greyback's earlier victim serving to convince himself that he had acted correctly in killing her.

Having never studied a dead body at length before, the curious boy reached down to brush a strand of hair from the child's face.  
"Still warm," he acknowledged hoarsely, whipping his hand back as though burned.

Imagining the distress of the poor girl's parents when they awoke in the morning to find their daughter's bed empty and a cold corpse on their doorstep, Arcturus suddenly felt he was violating something sacred in handling the child while she was still warm. No matter the just cause, _he_ had taken that sustaining warmth from the child… stolen her last breath… forced her healthy heart to drum its last beat.

"Did you keep this from me too, Esme?" he whispered through the sheen of tears that seemed to spring from nowhere as his stomach twisted with what could only be the unfamiliar sensation of remorse.

"No," said a soft voice from behind him, causing Arcturus to whip around and stand up, the sudden defensive move almost causing him to lose his balance and topple over the body he'd been crouching beside.

"Esme," he croaked in acknowledgement, taking a slight step back.

The vampire witch sensed the movement and flinched accordingly, her un-beating heart still capable of wrenching at the sight. She assumed her most demure look and held her arms out on either side of her torso, careful not to make any sudden movements as she wordlessly conveyed her intentions.  
"No," she repeated, gesturing her head slightly towards the dead child. "I never took that away from you."

"Then why does it hurt so much?" Arcturus whispered brokenly, weighed down by the gravity of what he had just done; scores of scenarios mocking him as they played out ways he could have possibly saved the child.

"Because in stealing you away from me, your uncle has made you feel like you have no one to turn to," said Esmerelda knowingly. "I'm sure he meant well and is clamouring to claim my place, but you fear that he'll not understand you… what you just did. Because it was Fenrir, and his bringing a girl of that age and likeness reopened a wound you never let heal. Shall I go on?"

Arcturus closed his eyes in defeat. It seemed that even without a residence in his head, Esmerelda Bane would still know him inside and out. Shaking his head wearily, he sighed.  
"I did what had to be done," he said softly, knowing that if he said it aloud it would become all that more believable.

"And this wasn't your fault any more than how what happened to that girl eight years ago. Neither could be prevented, Archie!" added Esmerelda, pushing him to deny responsibility for the attack that he had long suspected to have been orchestrated for the sole purpose of drawing him out of Grimmauld Place almost a decade earlier. Why else would a Muggle girl from suburban London have been targeted if not for the simple fact that her path to school took her past Arcturus' home every morning?

"How did they know?" he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head quickly. In the time before Dumbledore became Secret Keeper for the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, number 12 Grimmauld Place was markedly more accessible. Of course, his grandfather's complex array of Charms ensured that no one would really notice the property, or force their way into it, but people knew where it was, and who lived there. It had been such a 'Black' thing to do: let everyone know where you lived, but give them no way in – the ultimate taunt. Of those that knew of Arcturus' existence, all were aware that he was kept under lock and key in the house of his forefathers; but ever since the neighbourhood girl's attack, he'd been at a loss to explain how they could have possibly known how taken he was by the girl. Day after day he had sat on the windowsill, watching the girl walk by with her mother and wondering what it was like to grow up in a family that allowed you to go outside _every _day. By the very nature of the charms on his home, the girl had never seen him watching her, so by default no one ought to have known he was paying attention.

"Coincidences do happen, Archie," said Esmerelda quickly, stepping into the familiar role. "Or perhaps they did it on the off-chance that you would make the correlation…"

Arcturus frowned, his independent mind drawing conclusions he'd never before considered. The night the girl and her family had been attacked by Greyback's pack, Esmerelda had called him to her, his Token acting something like an automatic Portkey in those days. She had been one of the few people in his life to whom he had confided his fascination with the little Muggle schoolgirl, and so when the vampire witch had learnt of Greyback's plans – through a 'mutual acquaintance', she had said at the time – it seemed only natural that Arcturus had been fetched to help protect the defenceless family. They had, however, arrived too late to save the Muggles, and Arcturus had never been given cause to suspect Esmerelda's involvement in the attack… until now.

"It was you," he said quietly, equal tones of betrayal and self-loathing echoing in his tone. Without the woman in his head, everything was just so clear, and while he knew he could not have helped his earlier perspectives, he still hated himself for believing it all.

Taking note of the expression on the woman's face, he growled at the confirmation he found there.  
"It was you!" he repeated, a little louder. "_You_ were the only one who knew I watched her every day! The only one with connections to filth like Greyback! You set it all up! Why? They were innocents!"

"I needed to accelerate your progress," said Esmerelda smoothly, without a shred of remorse. "Your grandmother had done well in instilling you with the _idea_ of avenging your parents, but without actually knowing them you lacked the passion to truly go the distance. You needed to see firsthand what the enemy was capable of, Arcturus. I was simply giving you the means to fight back."

"I saw the aftermath of my mother's death and the lead up to my father's own _every night_ in my grandfather's Pensieve!" said Arcturus through gritted teeth. "Don't tell me about needing to see things firsthand!"

"Yes, but whether you chose to admit it or not, dear boy, a part of you could not help but sympathise with the Dark Lord," said Esmerelda knowingly, and Arcturus flinched when he found he could not deny it; the woman having resided in his head, after all. She went on. "You understood that your father had stolen from his master and betrayed the Oath he'd sworn. Voldemort then commissioning the death of your parents was a righteous punishment, and in acknowledging that the best you could have hoped to have done in retribution was punish the man for depriving you of your parents. It would not have been enough, I'm telling you! You needed to see that the Dark Lord, and those of his kind, were capable of killing senselessly; that there were weak who needed avenging!"

"So it was all my fault, then!" said Arcturus bitterly, referring to the fact that the girl's family would not have been targeted if he'd never taken to watching the girl walk by.

"No, it was Fenrir's fault," said Esmerelda soothingly. "The girl was supposed to be spared, but he just couldn't help himself!"

At Arcturus' confused look, Esmerelda's face fell.  
"I could never have inflicted that pain on you directly," she said firmly. "I had hoped to steal the girl away to the coven once she had been orphaned in front of you both; give you a friend whom you could identify with, and be vengeful for."  
She sighed.  
"It was all in your head, Archie!" she said, remiss. "Having seen her lose her parents to the same evil that took yours away would have given you the edge you needed to go the distance. You would have taken it upon yourself to be vengeful enough for two people because as a Muggle she wouldn't have stood a chance…"

Acknowledging the witch's intentions, and altogether sickened by the whole orchestrated event that had seen him take down two of Greyback's pack, at age eight, he closed his eyes slowly and bowed his head. The righteous side of him wanted to hold the woman before him accountable, but the dispassionate, analytical side that he was far more reliant upon could not help but acknowledge how said incident had shaped him into a stronger man. He hated himself for seeing reason in such atrocity, but he could not deny that he hadn't used the attack to fuel his resolve when faced with Death Eaters or the moral dilemma of whether or not to exploit the Token he'd once wore to exert control over a Dark creature. Without such reinforcement, he'd probably not done half the things he'd done, which would have meant that the evil he'd removed from the world would never have stopped hurting others.

"Collateral damage," he muttered to himself, reminded of the stance he'd taken with the Dark Lord moments earlier and not missing the irony in that it had been Esmerelda who had taught him of the principle.  
Looking the vampire witch in the eye, he sighed.  
"I cannot forgive you any more than I can forgive myself," he conceded heavily. "But I won't deny that it did serve its purpose."

Esmerelda tutted at him endearingly.  
"You concern yourself with mortal sentimentality," she clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Torture yourself for no reason. The past is in the past. It cannot be undone."

"Says she who scoured the earth for centuries, avenging the husband and son you knew for but a blink of that time," Arcturus pointed out coolly.

A pained look came over the oldest witch in existence, but she could not bring herself to lash out at the truth in the boy's words. Taking a step towards the reticent teen, she leant in close as though she was going to impart some great, secret knowledge.  
"That's right," she said softly; "so take it from one who took a millennia to learn the lesson: it is not worth it!"

"Oh, so I should just forgo this little vendetta and go about living my merry little life?" said Arcturus, a brow raised in scepticism. When the witch stalled to answer, he scowled. "Face it, Esme, it can't be both ways."

Taking a chance by resting a hand on each of the boy's shoulder, she looked Arcturus in the eye.  
"What you are doing, Arcturus, is more than just revenge," she said steadily. "You are working towards removing the evil in the world, and defending the weak."

Arcturus quirked his lips.

"You know, some might take that to be a little strange, coming from the woman known in history as one of the Darkest creatures to have graced this earth…" he said leadingly.

"What have I told you before, Archie," said Esmerelda firmly, tightening her grip on his shoulders. "No children. No innocents. What I did in the past may have been tantamount to evil, but my intentions were the same as your own."

"Ridding the earth of those that stole families away from people," recited Arcturus levelly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Paying a thought, then, to just how much the woman before him had shaped his life, he backed away slightly and folded his arms across his chest in consideration.

"What's going to happen now?" he asked, looking at the witch expectantly.

"What do you want to happen?" replied Esmerelda quietly, sounding defeated.

"I don't know," said Arcturus honestly, overcome by an unfamiliar awkwardness. He ruffled up the hair at the back of his neck and bowed his head slightly. "I don't want things to go back to how they were – I _am_ mad at you, you know – it's just that… but…"

"-no one knows you like I do?" finished Esmerelda helpfully, her eyes glinting. At the boy's nod, she smiled. "Do you trust me, Archie?"

Arcturus faltered in his response. The side of him that was still angry at the woman wanted to say 'no', but knowing the vampire witch as well as he thought he did, he had the give the woman credit where it was due. Whilst not entirely forthcoming with him, she had never actually lied to him either, not directly. Sighing through his hesitation, he looked into Esmerelda's eyes and nodded firmly.  
"Yes," he said in realisation. After the Token had been removed and Arcturus was spending the duration of their separation dwelling on his anger, he'd questioned her intentions; but whether it was his foolish 'mortal sentimentality' or otherwise, when faced with her in the flesh he couldn't shake the feeling that he was safe in her company.

"Let me taste you," she whispered. When Arcturus' eyes went wide with surprise, she rushed to explain. "I can sense your reluctance to accept another Token, but you need to be protected…"

"I don't want to be bound to you," said Arcturus warily, not caring if he hurt the woman's feelings; after all he was still angry at her for exerting such a subtle influence over him.

"You won't be if you give your blood freely, and I don't taste it from your flesh," promised Esmerelda, conjuring a bejewelled goblet with a twist of her wrist. Taking his acceptance of the vessel as consent, she dictated the terms. "The wound can be caused magically, but it must heal on its own. Show the scar to any Dark creature that seeks to harm and they will be unable to touch you."

Despite the years of curiosity, when it came time to give his blood to the vampire Arcturus could not help but feel a little squeamish. Using his wand, he traced a line on the inside of his palm, waiting until the thin stream of blood broke its banks and began to flow freely before fisting his hand and holding it over the goblet.  
"Say when, m'lady," he drawled dryly in what was a mockery of a Lord serving High Tea.

"Stop when it's half full," said Esmerelda, helplessly mesmerised by the trickle of blood that was running out from between the boy's fingers.

"Ever the optimist, eh, Esme?" smirked Arcturus, stemming the flow of blood from his hand and handing over the goblet when it had reached the requested dosage. Seeing the woman's slight shimmer of concern as he unfurled his hand and winced, he applied pressure to the wound and gestured towards the chalice in the woman's hand. "Drink. While it is still warm. I know how you loathe cold blood."

Eyes never leaving his, Esmerelda raised the goblet to her lips and drank slowly, her pupils becoming dilated and brows hooded as she savoured the thick red substance. Forcing himself to watch, Arcturus convincing itself that it wasn't his blood; the sight of Esmerelda feeding not unfamiliar, but repulsing him on this particular occasion.

"Leave," said Esmerelda suddenly, her voice sounding somewhat restrained. "Get back behind the wards!"

Arcturus stalled, blinking at the woman in shock.

"Go!" snapped Esmerelda, throwing the goblet aside and spraying remnants of Arcturus' blood over them both. "And take the body with you!"

A flick of his wand levitated the child's body and travelling through the wards behind them, but Arcturus held his ground.  
"Esme…" he started, his mouth suddenly dry.

Recoiling from his outstretched hand, Esmerelda looked at him with barely suppressed hunger in her eyes.  
"You must get away from me, Archie! Before I do something I regret!" insisted the tortured vampire witch, the lingering taste of Arcturus' blood on her lips far more intoxicating than she ever could have expected. "Go, Arcturus! Go, and stay away! I can't be near you anymore, not if you intend on remaining mortal!"

Sensing the growing threat, Arcturus stumbled back across the threshold of the Prince property and gaped at the woman.  
"You said the scar would protect me!" he said indignantly, holding out his bleeding palm and thrusting it towards her in emphasis.

Drawn by the sight and smell of his blood, Esmerelda's feet stepped forward of their own volition, causing her to hiss as her body was shocked by the wards. Moving back shakily, she gestured hopelessly.  
"It _will_ protect you," she said hoarsely, her head bowed in shame. "Just not from me."

Emboldened by his anger, Arcturus clenched his fists and closed the distance between them, not caring that he was no longer protected by the wards. Grabbing the vampire witch by the collar of her robes, he pulled her forward so that their faces were only inches apart. Glaring at her fearlessly – ignoring as her fangs elongated of their own accord and bared at him threateningly – the determined young man held his ground.  
"Did you know?" he demanded, looking the witch in the eye and finding his answer even before the woman shook her head. Reeling back, Arcturus let go of Esmerelda's robes and ran a hand over his face in consideration. For Esmerelda Bane to underestimate the effect of his blood on her palate, then he could only count his blessings that the woman had turned down a taste in the past, when she could have exploited the hold her Token had over him.

"How long?" he said in defeat, darting back behind the wards as the woman made to lunge at him, her heart and mind unable to stop her more baser instincts. Abstractly, Arcturus realised that it had probably been at least a hundred years since the vampire witch had drunk from a magical person; likely the first time by invitation – evidently an intoxicating combination.

Esmerelda turned her head skyward and sighed. Unable to come up with an answer they both would accept, she looked at the boy she had virtually raised in her image one last time.  
"Goodbye, Arcturus," she said levelly, slowly fading from view in a way only she knew how; "until we meet again."

Reading the meaning of the woman's parting words, Arcturus fell to his knees and cradled his head in his hands. For all the protection she had offered to him without hesitation, it had come at a cost that was suddenly greater than what a simple Token would have otherwise incurred.  
"Until we meet again," said Arcturus to thin air.

Regaining his resolve, he took a deep breath and stood, turning to face the consequences of his earlier actions.  
"What the…" he said, the surprise in his eyes quickly turning to satisfaction as he recognised the body that now lay in place of the dead Muggle child.


	12. Unexpected Allegiences

**Disclaimer**: If it were mine, do you think I would pull 40 hours a week in hell?? 

**Updated: **27 April 2007  
**Edited: **January 02 2008

**Chapter 12: Unexpected Allegiences**

"You're wearing a hole in the rug," the bemused werewolf commented, feeling slightly dizzy from watching his friend move back and forth. 

"Would you rather I transform and chew on the furnitutre?" the worried Animagus shot back testily. Immediately regretting his tone, the reticent wizard ran a hand over the stubble on his face and frowned apologetically. "I'm sorry, Moony. It's just they've been gone _hours_. A Fidelius doesn't take that long!"

"It's been barely two," corrected Remus, recalling the time on his watch for the fifth time that hour.

"It only took Dumbledore and I twenty minutes to stitch this place up," said Sirius worriedly, referring to the day of their arrival, when the Order's Secret Keeper had taken their gracious host out for a little dog walk.

"Yes, but Prince Manor is a country estate. Its perimeter is likely three times the size of Grimmauld Place..." Remus pointed out. 

"So, that only accounts for an hour, and you've just said yourself that they've been gone closer to two!" said Sirius agitatedly, turning his back on his friend in favour of scowling into the flames that were flickering in the hearth. Though the pair had left via Portkey, Arcturus and Snape would be returning via Floo, thus initiating the connection between the two properties and giving the Order a vital back-up residence; something that had been one of the few conditions imposed by the Order.

"Maybe they just got caught up," suggested Remus calmly. "Prince Manor was where Severus' mother grew up, he probably insisted on looking around before they left..."

Sirius scowled.  
"That'd be right," said Sirius with a sneer, suddenly angered by the thought of his nemesis overpowering his nephew and trying to lay claim to the abandoned country home. It would be just Snape's style to want to stick his nose in where it wasn't wanted, especially when he'd know it would stall for time and make Sirius worry about the wellbeing of his nephew.

His over-active mind filled with images of Arcturus then being duped by the illusive Potions Master and 'accidentally' handed over to Voldemort as some sort of belated revenge against himself, Sirius made his decision.  
"I'm going to go there!" he resolved, turning away from the low-burning fire in the fireplace a moment before it turned green. Spotting that his friend's attention was fixated on something behind his shoulder, the worked-up fugitive stopped mid-rant and turned back around.

"Moody?"  
It was Remus who broke the silence.

"What the hell happened to you?" Sirius blurted. The former head of the M.L.E looked as though he had just stepped out of a warzone. His robes were dusty and torn; covered entirely in a fine dusting of glass fragments that scratched the exposed patches of his skin and glittered in his hair. The paranoid ex-Auror's magical eye was spinning furiously, and the limp bestowed upon him by his wooden leg was more pronounced in the absence of his cane.

"There was a little _incident_ in the Department of Mysteries," said Moody gruffly, inching his way towards the closest chair as he reached for his omnipresent hip flask, pausing only to take a draught from the container. "Where's the boy?"

"I'll fetch Poppy," said Remus, pale-faced and skittish as he darted out the room to call on the venerable nurse.

Left alone with the man who'd had a hand in his arrest would have been harder a year ago, Sirius realised, but now he could manage. Leaning back against the mantle, he regarded the weary form of the revered crime-fighter curiously.  
"You look like shit, Moody," said Sirius flippantly. "I hate to think of what the Department of Mysteries looks like..."

"We only lost one of the rows in the Hall of Prophecies," said Moody tiredly. "Some fool tried to clear away a spillage in the Sands of Time room by shooting air from their wand; the doors burst open and would have taken out all of the bloody orbs if I hadn't put up the Containment Shield in time..."

Sirius took in the man's condition and did a double take as the wizard's words sunk in.  
"Wait, are you telling me that a little bit of spilt sand did this?" he gaped.

Pained though he was, Moody shifted forward in his chair and glared at the younger man.  
"Do not underestimate the Sands of Time, sonny boy!" he snapped, jabbing a finger in Sirius' direction. "Any substance that can manipulate the course of time is extremely volatile in its uncontrolled form! So yes, a little bit of spilt sand did indeed do this... and it would have done a lot more, had I not been there! Now _where's the boy_?"

"Harry?" said Sirius with a frown. "He's upstairs with his friends. Why, did _something_ happen?"

Mad-Eye Moody looked at his former apprentice, taking a moment to decide whether or not the younger man's conclusion ought to be taken as an insult or not – as if anything could happen to _the_ Prophecy on his watch!  
"I'm not talking about Potter, Black! I meant that nephew of yours."

"I don't understand," said Sirius with a slight frown. "What does anything in the Department of Mysteries have to do with Arcturus? You don't think he was the one who spilt all that sand, do you? Because I can tell you right now it wasn't him!"

"How can you be so sure, he's not here," said Moody, his magical eye scanning the house quickly. At the dark look that came over Sirius' face, he shifted attention back to the urgent matter at hand. "_Where is the boy, Sirius_? Please don't tell me he went anywhere with Snape..."

Sirius' stomach dropped, his mind flooded with images of Moody informing him of Snape's betrayal.  
"What? Why?" he managed, blanching slightly as he leant back against the mantle more heavily; his knees feeling weak beneath him.

Swearing under his breath, any further response from the wounded Order member was cut off as Poppy Pomfrey swept into the room, her wand at the ready and potions bag in hand.  
"Sirius Black!" she shrieked. "If I hear you have been soliciting a report from Alastor before he has sought medical attention I shall be placing you in a Body Bind next time you transform and take you to my cousin!"

Sirius winced and visibly shied away from the tornado of a woman. He'd never really understood the threat until Kingsley had helpfully pointed out that Daisy Pomfrey was a Muggle Veterinarian. To his relief this time, however, Alastor Moody was not about to be silenced.  
"You foolish woman! A responsible Auror would want to debrief before having their wounds seen to!" he barked menacingly. "They'll not let a little matter of personal discomfort prevent them from doing their duty!"

"And what of the duty of a responsible Healer, Auror Moody?" said Madame Pomfrey curtly, ignoring his protestations and setting up her portable medical kit. "Are they supposed to stand by and watch a patient's condition deteriorate? I am very disappointed, Alastor, I would have thought that losing your eye and your leg would have taught you the value of expedient medical care."

To his credit, the vigilant Auror snapped his mouth shut and began to cooperate, allowing the insistent woman to see to his scratches _whilst_ he continued filling Sirius in on what had just transpired in the bowels of the Ministry.  
"There's a Prophecy," said Moody urgently, pausing only when the door opened to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin and Albus Dumbledore. Nodding in satisfaction as he noted that each of the Order members present could be trusted with what he was about to impart, Moody continued. "One that possibly involves the kid..."

"Arcturus?" Sirius' heart froze. "Do you know who witnessed it? Was it one of Trelawney's?"

Alastor Moody looked reproachful.  
"I didn't see. It was one of the Orbs that got destroyed," he said. "Wouldn't have been able to hear it otherwise."

"But the Unspeakables... don't they keep a record of which Prophecies are stored where?" said Kingsley with a frown.

"I've looked into that," Moody admitted. "But I didn't see which shelf it fell from. It could be one of _hundreds_ that were destroyed... we'll have to elliminate each one."

"Then it shall be done," said Dumbledore levelly, at the same time Sirius asked what the Prophecy contained.

"I can't quite describe it," said Moody. "Perhaps it would be best if I were to show you. Woman, you about done with coating me in that slime?"

Disgruntled, Madame Pomfrey backed away from her reluctant patient and scowled.  
"Very well," she said in a clipped tone. "Your wounds are superficial. Do not remove the salve until you next go to bed, and the skin will be completely healed."

"Thank you, Poppy," said Moody sincerely, even though it was clear from knowing the man that he would not have objected to wearing his wounds with pride. He freed himself from the hovering Medi-Witch and looked over towards the Order leader. "Albus, a Pensieve?"

* * *

"Snape! Get up, Snape!" Arcturus toed the unmoving man with the tip of his shoe. After all he had just been through he was not about to leave his parents' home without having completed the Fidelius Charm. The wizard in question was still unconcious from their duel, but did not look particularly worse for wear.

At the repeated contact, Severus Snape's eyes snapped open, the man's hand shooting out and grabbing Arcturus' ankle.  
"There are more civilised ways to tend to a Duelling partner, boy!" he snapped, shoving the boy away so that he could rise of his own volition. Looking the boy up and down and noting that, besides from a cut on his hand and the glancing wounds he had unavoidably inflicted during their duel, he was remarkably unscathed, he narrowed his eyes at the teen. "What are you doing here? Are you not aware that we are being watched?"

"I took care of it," said Arcturus coolly, holding up his bleeding hand in explanation and gesturing it in the general direction of the property's boundaries. "They're gone."

Blinking at the teenager in unbridled surprise, Severus let his curiosity show.  
"How did you get them to leave without you?" he asked suspriciously.

"I took away their trump card," said Arcturus with a shrug. "They no longer had any thing to draw me out with, and couldn't get through the wards themselves, so they went off to lick their wounds and regroup. I took down three, though."

The increasingly smug teenager gestured towards the body in the distance and smirked.  
"I would have been highly interested to have seen the look on Tom's face when he got back to discover whom Greyback had made to take that Polyjuice," he said indulgently. "Who'd have thought Peter Pettigrew could play a distraught Muggle girl so confincingly! I'd never have guessed..."

The pieces fell together haphazardly in Severus' analytical mind.  
"Pettigrew is dead?" he said flatly.

Arcturus nodded.  
"Greyback was using him as a hostage to try and draw me out, like some foolish Gryffindor hero," said Arcturus, never about to admit that he had come quite close to taking the bait.

"So how did he wind up dead? Surely killing their supposed hostage would not have won them any favours," said Severus with a frown. He caught the look in Arcturus' eye and gazed over towards the dead body in consideration. "Unless... unless _you_ saw the hostage's death as the lesser of two evils..."

Arcturus' lip curled into a sneer.  
"Well I am so glad we can understand each other, cousin," he leered. "But if we could forego the macho bonding and concentrate on completing the Charm before they think of returning, I would be much obliged."

At the mention of placing the Fidelius Charm on his mother's childhood home, Severus Snape's eyes drifted towards the structure in question and flew open in surprise when he saw what remained of the house.  
"Is that what you meant by removing their 'trump cards'?" he growled, seconds away from throttling the boy for insisting on protecting a broken shell of a home. "What have you done?"

"A simple Disillusionment Charm, triggered by a password disguised as a generic Exploding Hex," said Arcturus with a grin. "Now come on, it won't take Tom long to realise he was duped, and once he sees Pettigrew is missing he'll likely send someone back for the body."

Severus shook his head.  
"Why would he do that?" he demanded, wordlessly pointing out that the Dark Lord did not go to any pains to bury his dead.

"Oh, Peter would be an exception, I assure you," said Arcturus knowingly as he strided back towards the fallen body. "Wanting to destroy evidence of my uncle's innocence would be but one of the reasons."

Following the teenager, his wand drawn, Severus' eyes narrowed when he saw that Pettigrew's corpse was on the designated 'safe' side of the wards.  
"You crossed the wards," he said. It was not a question.

"Yes, and I will do so again in order to complete the Fidelius," said Arcturus nonchalantly, his bright blue eyes not giving anything away as he stared at the man in challenge.

Severus Snape was given no choice but to wonder what had transpired whilst he had been lying unconscious.

* * *

"I don't understand," said Remus with a slight frown after they had all watched Moody's memory play itself out. "If this Time Sand was so explosive when messed with, then wouldn't people likely to be in contact with it be adequately trained?"

"Wouldn't wizards accused of a heinous crime be afforded a fair trial?" cut back Moody, looking meaningfully at Sirius.

"Point," said Sirius, grimacing at his friend. Then, looking over at the old, battle-scarred wizard, it occurred to the wrongly-accused fugitive that this would be the closest the old Auror would come to an apology. Running a hand through his hair, he considered what the memory had revealed. "How do you suppose that the Prophecy even pertains to Arcturus?"

"The 'Lady' and the 'Star Child'?" said Moody incredulously, pointing out the key references in the Seer's wispy recording. "Who else could it be referring to except for your nephew?"

"Well it makes definite reference to Severus, that can't be ignored," said Remus with a frown. "That's what he used to call himself in school, remember?"

"'Half-blood Prince'," Kingsley tried the title out with a funny expression on his face. "And there I was thinking that a Slytherin would not so willingly admit to such heritage!"

"He wouldn't have had a choice," said Sirius distantly. "The Prince family had renounced him as their heir, and the name 'Snape' had not been seen on any magical register for near on a millenia."

"Yes, of course, I remember Professor Slughorn grilling him about a possible link between his father and some famed magical alchemist, during our first Potions lesson," said Remus, his eyes sparking with recognition. "The other Slytherins in the class quickly caught on that Severus' father was a Muggle and so he'd drawn attention to his mother's 'more acceptable' lineage."

Sirius snorted.  
"Yeah, Severus was offered a prime place in the Slug Club on account of who his maternal grandfather was," said Sirius reminiscently. "Hey, Arcturus is related to him too... no wonder the kid's such a force to be reckoned with!"

"Why, I thought my ears were burning!" said Arcturus with mock brevity as he strode into the room unexpectantly, catching the last of his uncle's words.

"How did you get back?" Sirius blurted, spinning on his heel to stare at his nephew in astonishment; relief clouding his features when he could see the teenager still in one piece. "What took you so long?"

"Nixed the Floo in favour of Portkeying into the square," said Arcturus with a shrug as he flopped down into an armchair and conjured a bottle of unidentifiable liquid. "We were demonstrably _delayed_."

"Where is Severus?" said the headmaster politely when no one followed the exuberant boy into the room.

"He went back to his dungeon, I suspect," said Arcturus nonchalantly as he took a swig of his drink. He shot a coy look in the direction of the harried school nurse, who was currently looking at him predatorily as she stalled in packing away her medical supplies. "I dare say he requires medical attention."

"What happened?" said Kingsley, looking the boy over critically. The boy hardly had a scratch on him, but Severus required medical attention? He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What did you do to him?"

Arcturus' flippant mood shifted, and he glared at the dark-skinned Auror defensively.  
"What it took to maintain his precious cover," he snapped darkly. "You should be grateful. You still have your spy and Tom's down another three Death Eaters whilst you've been what, sitting around doing what, exactly?"

At this, all heads that weren't already focused on the teenager pivoted sharply in his direction.  
"There were Death Eaters waiting for you?" said Sirius, his mouth agape in horror. With Severus apparently keeping his cover, and Arcturus without the assistance of Esmerelda Bane's army of Dark creatures, the boy's survival was unfathomable. "No offence, but how were you able to take three of them down, keep Snape's cover, _and_ get away? Is the house still standing?"

"Of course," said Arcturus smugly, refusing to give out any details. Changing the course of the conversation swiftly, he turned to the headmaster. "Headmaster Dumbledore, you may want to make yourself accessible by Ministry owls. If not, I daresay you'll have to find out with every one else in tomorrow morning's _Prophet_."

"Why don't you just tell us now?" said Moody testily, his magical eye glaring intimidatedly at the belligerent teenager. Upon seeing the makeshift bandage wrapped around the boy's hand, he shot out of his chair and, ignoring Poppy's protests, hobbled towards the teen. "What did you do to your hand?"

Arcturus instinctively shifted his hand out of sight and scowled at the former Auror when his observation piqued the attention of the overbearing nurse.  
"It's just a scratch," he insisted dismissively, wrenching his arm out of reach of the hovering woman. "I will not allow for it to be healed magically."

The prophecy fresh on his mind, Alastor Moody shot his colleagues a look of confirmation before resuming his interrogation, his imposing form looming intimidatedly over the seated teen.  
"Was Bane there?" he growled, his magical eye watching intently for any subtle reaction in the boy.

"She may have turned up after the fact," said Arcturus with a shrug. "She had nothing to do with the deaths of those Death Eaters, though."

"Don't worry, boy, we'll let you have your glory," said Moody in mild disgust. With lightning fast reflexes, he shot his hand out and grabbed Arcturus' wrist, the teen momentarily distracted by Poppy's attempts to assess the same limb. Sparing no mind for the boy's comfort, the hardened law enforcement official wrenched off the strip of cloth and inspected the wound, his surprise detectable by the rigid teenager.

"Not what you were expecting?" he sneered, pulling his hand out of Moody's lax grip. He conjured another bandage and tied it around his palm, his eyes never leaving the crippled ex-Auror. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Reeling back in shock as he recognised the subtle attempt of Legilimency nudging at his mind, Alastor Moody broke eye contact.  
"No!" he said quickly, turning to glare at Sirius in silent warning.

Following the man's line of sight, Arcturus rose from his chair and looked at his uncle challengingly.  
"_Uncle_?" he said, shamelessly calling on the man to honour his loyalty to blood. "Is there any particular reason why your estemmed _friend_ here would leap to the conclusion that Lady Bane had bitten my hand?"

"Moody heard a Prophecy," confessed Sirius, at the same time the man in question roared for silence.

Cutting the secretive man off with a glare, Arcturus stood his ground.  
"Assuming I even believe in such supposition – which I don't – what did this prophecy say?"

"That in the battle Snape led you into, the exchange of blood would make an enemy of Bane, and drive you towards darkness," said Sirius, his brow furrowed in concern.

Arcturus' brows rose in disbelief.  
"Oh, and I suppose it mentioned everyone by name and defined such terms as 'enemy' and 'darkness', hmm?" he said with incredulity. Seeing his audience's hesitation, he leered in vindication. "I thought not. Now, if this is the best you can do to account for your time, it's no wonder Voldemort is making such steady advances..."

"Where do you think you're going?" snapped Moody, slamming the door shut in Arcturus' face as the teen made to stalk out of the room.

"Oh, you know, I thought I might go help myself to something to _eat_, seeing as I haven't eaten since breakfast!" said Arcturus challengingly. He turned slowly to glare at the wizard who had spelled the door closed. "I am surprised you want to stop me, what, with your insistence to keep details of fanciful prophecies secret and all."

"You still haven't told us what we're to look out for in tomorrow's _Daily Prophet_," said Moody in a dangerously low voice.

"Oh, I am pretty sure that it will be hard to miss," said Arcturus with a smirk, giving his uncle a meaningful look before returning his glare at the one-legged wizard. "I'm confident that even with your magical eye closed, you would be able to see what I am talking about."

Making his decision, Sirius took his nephew's side. Crossing the room to stand alongside the teen, he overrode Moody's magic on the door, turning the handle in his hand.  
"I'll not be held accountable for my nephew being deprived of food," he said curtly, looking pointedly between the ex-Auror and his old headmaster, silently calling for the older man to step in. He placed his hand on Arcturus' shoulder. "C'mon, kid, I am sure we can find ourselves some of Molly's infamous Shepherd's Pie in the kitchen."

Judging by the man's overly casual tone, Arcturus knew that his uncle was going to needle him for information once they were alone. True enough, they'd gotten no further than the top of the staircase leading down to the kitchen when the fugitive Animagus leant in close and let his intentions be known.  
"Okay kid, spill. What's the big headline we're all going to see tomorrow?" Sirius asked, grinning lopsidedly. When the boy beside him did not answer, he draped an arm over his nephew's shoulder and nudged him playfully. "C'mon! I'd know that look anywhere! You want to say it, I know you do!"

Twitching slightly, Arcturus concentrated on schooling his face into an expressionless mask before looking his uncle in the eye.  
"We've been in each other's company barely a handful of days and you profess to know my facial expresions?" said Arcturus levelly. "Some how, I don't think so."

"You calling my bluff?" Sirius pulled away, feigning hurt. Then, making a show of looking around them to see if anyone was within ear shot, he confided in the younger wizard in a stage whisper. "I _know,_ because you looked the same way Reg looked whenever he was trying to pull one over on me."

Moved by the man's words, Arcturus looked at the man with unbridled curiosity.  
"All right, I'll grant you that," he said, admitting that Sirius had read his expression correctly. "But I am still not going to tell you anything – I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Gripping the boy's shoulder in friendly threat, Sirius smirked at his nephew.  
"Now, I'll tell you what I repeatedly told my brother," he said smoothly. "Think twice before dancing with the devil..."

"-he may just step on your toes," cut in Arcturus, bored. "Really, Sirius, the devil? Forgive me if I am not trembling in my boots."

"You may think I am being melodramatic," said Sirius; "but I am sure if you were to ask McGonagall about the Great Marauder Prank War she'd tell you no differently."

Arcturus couldn't help himself, he laughed.  
"You're threatening me with _pranks_?" he said, shaking his head slightly as he broke away from the man and crossed the kitchen, bound for the larder. "Now I really have no cause for concern!"

Realising that he had nowhere to go, Sirius slumped his shoulders and began to mope like a petulant adolescent.  
"Oh c'mon Archie..." he whined pathetically. "Just one little hint?"

Disgusted and humoured by the man's juvenile behaviour, Arcturus decided to throw the dog a bone.  
"All right," he said as he fixed himself a helping of left overs and took his favoured chair at the kitchen table. "Tell me exactly what this almighty prophecy said, and I'll give you a detailed retelling of how I nailed Snape in a duel."

Following his nephew's lead in helping himself to Molly's Shepherd's Pie, Sirius dropped the serving spoon in surprise.  
"You duelled with Snape?" he called out over his shoulder, banishing the emptied casserole dish to the self-washing sink before turning to join his nephew at the table, bowl in hand. Taking a seat across from the busily eating teenager, he smiled at the display of 'normal' behaviour, eager to learn the details of Snape's latest humiliation. "All right, spill... and talk with your mouthful all you want."


	13. A Little Worldly Experience

**Disclaimer: **If it were mine, I would actually _like_ my boss.

**Updated: **Tuesday 5 June 2007.  
**Edit: **Wednesday 02 January 2008

**Chapter 13: A Little Wordly Experience...**

Arcturus turned the parchment over in his hands absently, his mind lost in thought. Because Grimmauld Place was under Fidelius, all mail intended for residents of the property was redirected to a secure mail-holding service in Diagon Alley and collected once a day by an Order member. Thankfully, all with cause to write to Arcturus employed effective methods of safeguarding their correspondence against prying eyes, but if anything all that did was pique the curiosity of the nosy alumni of do-gooders and drive the intently private teenager slowly insane.

This latest piece of mail in his hand now was something he had been anticipating for well over a year: his own membership to _the Club_. Until now, he'd always attended as Viktor's guest, but now his nomination for admittance had been approved and he could finally walk through the doors in his own esteem. Tracing his fingers over the embossed wax seal that graced the envelope, Arcturus remembered distinctly how difficult it had been to open his correspondence in private. Certain members of the Order had been of the belief that anything addressed to an under-aged wizard was fair game, and that for its contents to instead be impervious to unwelcome eyes must infer malicious intent. Arcturus, in turn, had stood firm in his right to privacy and, as evidenced by the invitation he now held in his hand, had gotten his way.

'_Ut excolo valens cum prudentia et cautela,'_ Arcturus read the credo that encircled the opulent crest of the most exclusive club in Europe and smirked. True to its motto, the club's proprietors prided themselves on discretion and security; violence was unheard of within the baroque grand hall that housed the club, and dealings with its elite membership was incorruptible. No one knew exactly how many members the club had, and its location was protected by a Fidelius that only a customised invitation like what he held in his hand could circumvent.

Mulling over who he might take along as his guest, Arcturus cast his mind to the events of the past few days. The recovery of Pettigrew's remmarkably 'fresh' body had caused a furore at the Ministry, dominating the front pages of the _Daily Prophet_ ever since the story first broke. A full investigation had been launched into Sirius' arrest, and public opinion was throwing its mighty weight in favour of the man's innocence. The fugitive in question had become almost unbearable to live with; the man giddy with excitement at the prospect of his exoneration, but frustratingly confined to Headquarters until his case could be heard. The Ministry had called for the wrongly-accused to present himself for questioning and detainment until trial, but the Order didn't want to take any chances for fear Voldemort's insiders could get at the man there and influence the outcome of the trial. It would take time before they could ensure safe passage for the Azkaban escapee.

"I wonder what happened to his hand..."

Muffled whispers carried themselves to Arcturus' sensitive ears, and he unfurled himself from the wingbacked chair to listen more intently. He was sitting in an easily overlooked corner of the library, his chair positioned away from the door, through which the house's other teenaged occupants had just entered. Deciding to prolong his discovery, Arcturus remained out of sight and listened to the Gryffindors speculate over Pettigrew's missing limb.

"Maybe Voldemort took it back..." said Ron, Arcturus now able to recognise the teenagers by voice alone.

As predicted, it was Hermione who cut the redhead off.  
"He couldn't have, Ron, you heard what Professor Snape said..." the girl's voice trailed off, no doubt conveying the rest of her message with a look. Of all the teenagers, Hermione Granger was the only student who insisted on addressing Snape by his title, all the others refraining from bestowing the man with a respect he did not deserve. Arcturus found it hard to fathom what Viktor had seen in the bushy-haired girl, and was certainly not looking forward to enrolling in Hogwarts if a know-it-all, self-righteous Muggleborn girl was the best the co-educational institution had to offer.

Still undetected by the unobservant teenagers, Arcturus drowned out their incessant chatter by casting his mind to another matter that had been plaguing him of late: the prophecy. The guarded teenager liked to think he had convinced everyone that knew of Moody's obscure discovery that he did not care much for predicative supposition, but he wouldn't be a human fifteen year old boy if he didn't remain entirely unaffected. Fanciful though it had sounded, Arcturus could not dismiss the likelihood that the Seer had been talking about him and, specifically, events that had culminated in Esmerelda accepting his blood at Prince Manor.

As for the latter part of the Prophecy, he could never see himself being led into Darkness - at least not knowingly - which was why he was currently sat in semi-isolation, trying to dissect his options. Pettigrew's missing silver appendage, for instance, lay buried in a secret compartment of his trunk, having been removed from the corpse for later study but not touched since he'd heard of his supposed fate. He'd detected something distinctly _odd_ about the silver hand whilst preparing the body for transit, and had listened to his gut instinct when it told him that the conjured metal had a measure of value to the Dark Wizard that created it. Part of him was of a mind to hand the item over to the Order to investigate, especially since he couldn't bring himself to touch it, but his strong suspicion that the Order would only undermine his efforts by excluding him from their findings kept him wary.

"Arcturus?"

It was Ginny who had spotted him in the end, the youngest occupant of the house nudging past his chair in search of a book. Caught talking about things they should rightfully have no knowledge of, the group was immediately defensive. Rising from his chair and stretching languidly, Arcturus physically exemplified how unbothered he was by their trivial pursuits. Of course, he'd known all along about the Weasley Twins' Extendable Ears, but they didn't know that, and so now Arcturus was enjoying himself watching the teens try and cover their tracks.

"It's all right," he said finally, smirking slightly. "We all know the Order is not as discreet as they would like to think they are. Don't mind me, I have a habit of tuning out that which does not interest me."

The twins marvelled appreciatively at his veiled promise to never repeat what he 'never' heard, and nodded wisely. Rounding his chair and pointedly ignoring the wary glare of the youngest Weasley boy – whom he believed was an untoward influence upon someone with such an esteemed pedigree as Harry – Arcturus looked at the Boy-Who-Lived decisively.  
"Potter, a word in private?" he asked, gesturing for the younger teen to follow him out.

Nodding affirmatively, Harry shrugged at his friends and excused himself, allowing Arcturus to lead him out into the hall and upstairs to the room they now exclusively shared.  
"I wish you'd let Ron back in," said Harry casually, flopping down on his own bed as Arcturus closed and sealed the door behind them. "He's not getting any sleep, sharing with the twins."

Pocketing the invitation he still held in his hand - for the time being, anyway – Arcturus toyed with the wand he had drawn to ward their room against prying ears.  
"Harry, you don't have to stay in here if you do not like my terms," he said flatly, crossing the room and taking his favoured seat atop his desk. He gestured towards the door. "You're quite welcome to join your friend if you are concerned his brothers would harm him as he slept. I just thought you'd welcome the time apart; after all you do share a room with the guy nine months of the year."

"Yeah, but you know what Sirius said," said Harry awkwardly, pulling his fringe down over his forehead in what was an unconscious habit. "He said it would be good for us to get to know each other better, if we were staying in the same room. Don't you want to get to know my friend too?"

"Not particularly," said Arcturus honestly. He shoved himself off the desk and stalked towards his bespectacled room mate. Retrieving the invitation from inside his robes once more, he held it out towards the teen. "I do, however, have something here that I would like to share with you."

"What is it?" said Harry, reading the invitation quite clearly, but not understanding just how prestigious the opportunity to attend was.

Knowing from his observations of the Muggle-raised boy that informing Harry of the club's history and reputation would only serve to repel the teen away from attending, Arcturus took a far more nonchalant approach.  
"It's a night club," he said, feigning disinterest. "I wouldn't consider it very appropriate to turn up alone, so I thought you'd might like to sneak out with me..."

Harry's excuses came thick and fast, but Arcturus was just as quick in cutting him off.

"Harry, please, that is the Order talking!" he said, making it quite clear that he was not going to take the Order's word for anything. He plied at Harry's most transparent weakness: his desire to be _normal_. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to be a normal wizarding teenager? Well this is what we do! We sneak out, and go to places like this. It will be quite safe, I assure you. No one need ever know who you are, even! Just say the word, and I can make it happen."

An undeniable hunger flickered in Harry's eyes, and Arcturus knew that he had the boy hooked.

"Can my friends come too?" he asked, his frown belying the fact that he already knew Arcturus' answer. "It's just that we do everything together..."

"-And haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to have something separate to them?" said Arcturus cajolingly. "You own secrets, your own memories, your own interests... your own _family_?" he paused in consideration. "The way I see it, kid, the only existence you have apart from your peers is the link you have with Voldemort. Don't you crave a little autonomy?"

"Sirius will never go for it," said Harry with a sigh.

"Hence the 'sneaking out' part," said Arcturus with a curl of his lips. "All right, so they'll likely know we've left as soon as we're gone – the Black wards have a pesky habit to spoil the fun like that – but no one need know where we're going, and when we do return to the Order's 'welcoming committee' just leave things to me."

"You sure do like a challenge," said Harry with an appreciative smirk. He was steadily coming around. "By any count, my Dad and Sirius would have done a lot worse at our age... so when do we leave?"

* * *

Forgoing the Portkey imbedded in the invitation, they had used one of Arcturus' own Portkeys to arrive in an alley a block away from the club. Casually strolling towards their destination, Arcturus took a moment to look his invitee up and down approvingly, the smart casual robes he'd leant the boy re-sized to fit and complimenting his features well.  
"I still cannot believe that it never crossed your mind to purchase casual clothes when getting fitted for your school robes," said Arcturus, shaking his head in disbelief as he appraised the younger teen's side profile. "Whatever did you wear outside of class? Surely not those rags you insist on slouching about the house in all summer..."

His face reddening in embarrasment, Harry ducked his head and mumbled an indecipherable answer. Choosing not to press the matter, Arcturus pulled a small ear piece out of his pocket and held it out to the unworldly teen.  
"Never mind that, I shall personally see to your wardrobe before term commences," he said dismissively. "Now here, take this and put it in your ear."

"What is it?" asked Harry, accepting the small seed-like earpiece and examining it warily.

"It's a Translapod," said Arcturus patiently. "Not everyone in the club will speak English. This will enable you to understand them."

"Oh, like a Babel Fish," said Harry brightly, remembering the alien, ear-dwelling parasite from one of Dudley's abandoned books. He put it in his ear eagerly. "Will I talk in whatever language I am being spoken to in?"

"No, you will continue talking in English," said Arcturus slowly, not quite knowing how to take Harry's inference but being too proud to question it.

"What about you?" said Harry, noticing that the boy did not put any such thing in his own ear.

"I am sufficiently billingual to survive a passing conversation without one," said Arcturus dismissively. Gesturing towards the ear piece the bespectacled teen now wore in his ear, he inclined his head. "I thought it best that due to your lack of experience in such an arena, it would serve you well to be able to understand what is being said around you. You will not have noticed it yet, but the Translapod will also heighten your senses when you are trying to specifically hear something."

"-Like an Extendable Ear?" said Harry, his eyes lighting up.

Rolling his eyes skyward, Arcturus took a steadying breath and inwardly reminded himself that it was not entirely Harry's fault that he remained so completely and utterly clueless.  
"Let's just get one thing straight," said Arcturus quickly, putting his arm around Harry's shoulder and leaning close to the shorter boy's ear. "Your little friends' 'Extendable Ear' is but a crude and elementary imitation of a Translapod. Don't get me wrong, it's a fine and inexpensive display of Charm work at play, but you of all people shouldn't settle for anything less than the best."

"-and this Translapod thing is 'the best'," said Harry flatly, knowing that to question the older boy on his latter words would only cause trouble. He settled for a frown. "I've never even _heard_ of a Translapod before now..."

"That's because they are incredibly rare and insanely expensive," said Arcturus simply. "That particular artefact in your ear is something of a Black family heirloom, in as much the same way as I imagine that Invisibility Cloak of yours has been in the Potter family for generations. Both are incredibly difficult to come by, a Translapod moreso than an Invisibility Cloak; thereby it is not surprising that your peers may not have heard of it. I daresay your godfather would be aware of its existence if you were to ask him, though. Had he not been blasted from the family tree it would have gone to him – but as it stands he can only lay claim to the magical inheritence of the line; such that is irrevocable."

Harry frowned and halted in his step.  
"But... but I thought..." he said, distracted, looking up at Arcturus in confusion. "You're so powerful. I thought you had..."

"Inherited the magical gifts of the Black line?" finished Arcturus, chivvying the dawdling boy along with a flick of his head. Once they had regained their level pace, he shook his head and continued conversationally. "Hardly. Even if I was my uncle's heir in that respect, I wouldn't come into such powers until I came of age... and regardless of how you think I may act, that's still a good sixteen months away."

Realisation dawned on Harry's features as he recalled what it meant to be Sirius' godson.  
"I'm Sirius' godson," he said in self-reproach. "That... that means I... that, that you... but I'll already have whatever my father's line will pass down, is there any way to..."

"No," Arcturus cut in, saving Harry from his misery. "Don't worry so much about it, I don't think there's anything the Black line could offer that I haven't learnt for myself the old fashioned way. You haven't put me at a disadvantage in the slightest; Grandmother still disowned Sirius from the _physical _estate, and I'd never trade that for a few magic tricks. Keep the Translapod if you want, even."

Harry blinked in bewilderment, surprised to see such apparent generosity coming from the usually guarded teen. He didn't think he could either refuse or deny the gift in their present climate and so settled for shrugging awkwardly, silently inferring that he would just borrow the Translapod for the course of the evening and wrap his head around things later. Arcturus having likened the device to his own Invisibility Cloak made the older boy's gesture all the more inconceivable, for he could never imagine wanting to part with his father's cloak.

"Oh, here, you might want to take one of these, too," said Arcturus, fishing out a small dragon's hide wallet from the inside pocket of his robes. "It's just a Transfigured glove, but it will have to do for now."

"What is it?" said Harry, turning over the soft leather wallet and marvelling at the detailed embossment around his trim. Noting his own initials stenciled in the corner, he resolved not to see it turned back into whatever glove it had originally been.

"A business card holder," said Arcturus, rolling his eyes and physically nudging the hand holding the transfigured leather; hinting that Harry should pocket it. "Trust me, you'll thank me later. Now come on, it's just across the road, there..." - he pointed, and explained things as they approached the entrance - "Usually, when one accepts the Portkey they send you, you will arrive in a specifically-allocated arrival bay, where your personal staff will greet you and escort you to your table. However, I thought you might have more to gain by seeing a little more of the venue upon your arrival. Just look... it's even impressive from the outside, don't you think?"

Not quite having the same appreciation for fine architecture as his friend, Harry could only nod half-heartedly and remain curious about what lay within the exclusive club. From the outside, the old stone manor looked dark and uninhabitated, but four years in the magical world had, in the least, taught Harry to never take things at face value. And sure enough, no sooner had they crossed the invisible magical barrier that adorned the threshold of the entrance did Harry get his first real glimpse of what the night ahead had to offer.

"It's not usually this loud," said Arcturus conversationally as he took his place at the assigned table and cast a privacy bubble around them. "I suspect tonight's for the young set. How's the Translapod treating you?"

"I wouldn't be able to hear a thing without it," admitted Harry. "How'd you manage to have a conversation with that elf?"

"There are Charms," said Arcturus, waving his hand casually. "I also read lips... it's a useful skill, you should learn it."

"Your drinks, sirs," a voice interrupted politely, the serving elf barely visible behind the tray he carried.

"I took the liberty of filling out your drink card," said Arcturus, removing his usual Absinthe and gesturing for the elf to place the remaining goblet in front of Harry. "Nothing more than the local variant of Butterbeer, I assure you."

"Uh, thanks," said Harry, picking up the goblet and giving it a cursory inspection before giving in to his curiosity. Overcome by its alluring taste, he was rather ineloquent as he expressed his appreciation for Arcturus' choice. "Hmmm, mmm, this is good... what'd you get?"

Muttering something about being thankful for the privacy charm he'd put up around them, Arcturus rolled his eyes and watched as Harry took a moment to take in the room. Letting the sugar cube dissolve into his own glass, Arcturus abandoned his drink for the time being and swiftly changed the subject as he spotted Harry reaching for his fringe.

"Will you _stop_ with that nervous twitch? It's not that noticeable!" he said, his firm words stalling Harry's hand mid-way through reaching up to flatten his fringe. "No one here _cares_ what happened fourteen years ago. Voldemort never really cracked the continent."

"Maybe I should have gone to Durmstrang," Harry muttered miserably.

"Would have done you a world of good," Arcturus agreed flippantly, leaning back and taking a sip of his drink. "You're far too sheltered at Hogwarts, which is certainly not the way to be in light of the expectations on you."

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable with the idea of sitting in a strange club and drinking strange drinks whilst Arcturus regaled him with tales of the life he should have led, Harry let his growing irritability show.  
"Why did you bring me here?" he asked shortly. Intending no malice or ingratitude, he immediately relented. "I'm sorry, I mean this place is a nice change and all, but I don't understand why you would want to invite me. Surely one of your friends would have..."

"-What friends I keep can likely get here on their own esteem," said Arcturus with a shrug. He gestured towards the small groups of people that appeared to be making the rounds at each table, redirecting their attention. "Respected members of the wizarding community. After a meticulous screening process, they pay an admittance to come here and make themselves known the clientele. You need to expand your resources beyond the Hogwarts alumni and Order-screened individuals your keepers populate your life with."

Dumbledore's part in placing him with relatives that despised him and doing nothing as he was raised with no knowledge of the world he was born into striking a resentful chord within him, Harry could not help but appreciate Arcturus' approach. Recognising a few faces amongst the string of people moving from table to table, Harry's eyes lit up in surprise.

"Is that the head coach of the Chudley Cannons?" he asked, in awe, inwardly picturing how much of a wreck Ron would be in his shoes right now.

Arcturus snorted derisively, nodding once.  
"Yes, and I spotted the scout for the Ballycastle Bats by the bar earlier," he said with disinterest. "You'll not believe how many teams have tried to poach me from the Bulgarian camp. Unless you're interested in a Quidditch career, you'll be better served keeping an eye out for Curse-Breakers and Defence Masters. I don't think we'll see any of note tonight, given that tonight's crowd is largely unbothered by such pursuits."

At this junction, Arcturus looked almost disappointed. Waving his hand dismissively and taking another sip of his drink, he recovered his resolve.  
"In the very least, you'll have quite a nice collection of cards to show your friends," he said, sounding almost defeated as he gave into the eagerness in the awed teen's eyes. He couldn't berate the boy for detracting from the goals ahead, however, for he only had to pay mind to how he himself had felt when in such illustrious company for the first time, over a year earlier.

"Why hasn't anyone come over here, yet?" Harry asked self-consciously, it remaining unspoken that the Boy-Who-Lived feared that people kept their distance because of his 'reputation'.

"The Privacy Charm is still up," said Arcturus, with only a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'll take it down when I think you're ready to meet and greet."

"But I'm ready now! They could leave!" blurted Harry, his eagerness all too clear. "Ron'll kill me if I don't get a Cannons card..."

Grabbing the excited boy's wrist from across the table, Arcturus frowned and looked at his guest levelly.  
"They won't leave until the last patron does," Arcturus assured him. "I want to go over a few things before I allow us to get swept up in the process, as it is likely that I will not be by your side the entire evening-"

"-You're going to leave me, alone?" Harry cut in, eyes wide. "But I don't know the first thing about this place! I don't even know where we are!"

"Exactly! That's why I want to set down a few guidelines before I take down the charm and render us open season, if you will," said Arcturus. He pulled out his invitation. "First of all, now that we are here, this invitation will act as a Portkey back to my room at Grimmauld Place. I want you to take it and place it in an easily accessible, but secure, pocket. It will only work for either you or I; do not try to take anyone with you."

"But why would I-" Harry interrupted, only to nod meekly as Arcturus held up his hand, beckoning for silence.

"Do not accept any card that has not been passed to you via our personal elf," continued Arcturus, inclining his head towards the House Elf stationed between their chairs. "They are charged with our security and check everything that changes hands."

"But I thought you said-" said Harry quickly, questioning Arcturus' earlier assurances that the club would be safe.

"I assure you what I said earlier still stands. This club prides itself on its security and tradition. Its screening processes are rigorous enough, but like with anything, not completely infallible," explained Arcturus. "Using an elf as an intermediary began centuries ago, when the patrons of this club thought themselves too good to physically come into contact with the visiting representatives that came to peddle their wares. Today, it is merely a security precaution veiled as an homage to tradition; but it is something that keeps everyone happy, the elves especially."

He took a breath and finished off his drink. Toasting the air with his empty glass in emphasis, he continued setting out his 'guidelines'.  
"Do not accept any beverage other than that which your elf, and your elf alone, hands you, and do not return to it if you leave it unattended," said Arcturus firmly. "Before you ask, I can assure you that the staff here are trustworthy, the elves incorruptible. Now, have I missed anything?"

"Do I have to hold your hand?" Harry drawled, taking in all of the boy's conditions and having to hold himself back from comparing his host to the likes of Sirius or Dumbledore.

"This is not a laughing matter, Potter," snapped Arcturus, of half a mind to Portkey them both home, then and there. "I am simply instructing you to conduct yourself in as much the same way as I regard my own personal safety. In all likelihood such precautions are entirely unnecessary in this forum, but people like us just cannot be too careful, and it will pay dividends for you to practice such methods in an environment where you can afford to make a mistake."

"What do you mean, _people like us_?" said Harry, incredulous.

"You're not the only boy in Britain who has caught the interest of the wizarding world's most unsavoury characters," said Arcturus levelly, rising from his chair and removing the privacy charms, effectively ending their conversation. "Now, I will remain with you whilst the guests make their rounds and hand out their cards, but after that you're on your own. It would not be very tasteful for us to dance together."

Seeing, with horror, Arcturus' eyes drift lazily towards a table of beautiful girls – girls who, in the absence of the privacy charm, were noticing them for the first time – Harry blanched.  
"Dance?" he squeaked. "But I can't dance! You said nothing about _dancing_!"

"Harry, it's a night club, what did you expect?" said Arcturus. "And of course you can dance! Hasn't anyone ever told you that if you cast a Taratangella on yourself, you'll dance however you want to dance, until you cancel the spell?"

"But... but... I'm under aged!" blurted Harry, inwardly scowling at the injustice of having not been informed of such things before the Yule Ball, when he could have used magic to help himself dance.

"Has that stopped me using magic in Britain?" said Arcturus leadingly.

"No, but you're not under the British Ministry's jurisdiction," said Harry, confused.

"That's right," said Arcturus. "Incidentally, we are not presently in Britain. Catch my drift?"

"I can use magic?" Harry whispered.

"And you're a Seeker..." Arcturus muttered, snorting in disbelief. "No offence, Potter, but in my world you couldn't find a snowflake in a blizzard."

"Yeah, well you've had your whole life to get used to all this," said Harry, knowing that Arcturus meant no offence by his words and responding in kind. "That's what you get when you spend most of your life as a Muggle!"

Shooting his young apprentice-of-sorts a sympathetic look, Arcturus gripped the shorter boy's shoulder in support.  
"Don't worry, kid, I'll teach you everything you need to know," said Arcturus, likening his growing influence over Harry to the bond forged between Mentor and Protege at Durmstrang. If there was one good thing about transferring schools, it was ridding his day of Gunther, and though raised predominantly by Muggles and subsequently unaware of most things on offer in the wide world around them, Harry was a more than worthy replacement.

"Mr Black?" a svelte, sophisticated voice interrupted them from behind, a tall, wiry man gliding up to them with almost inhuman grace.

"Curator," said Arcturs with a curt nod, rounding to acknowledge the sharply-dressed club owner. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Pardoning the intrusion to your evening, but there is a matter that requires your attention," said the pale, dark-haired man apologetically, his barely noticeable glance in Harry's direction indicating that he'd rather continue in private.

Seeing the look, Arcturus cast a privacy bubble around them and stepped noticeably closer to his guest.  
"Whatever you have to say, you can say it here," said Arcturus levelly, eying the man suspiciously.

Embarrassed at having to conduct his admission in front of an audience, the Curator glanced around them critically and hesitated, a slight flush in his neck the only indicator to his discomfort.  
"There has been a security breach, Mr Black" he said quietly, looking at the young man intently. "One that relates specifically to you."

Arcturus was immediately on guard, his body going rigid as he pressed for more details.  
"How so?" he asked, equally vigilant and sceptical.

"Please sir, if we could please discuss this in private..." said the man weakly, gesturing towards a stairwell marked 'staff only'. "The accomodations in my office are quire comfortable."

"Yes, for you," said Arcturus grimly, not moving an inch. "Continue. The threat is now neutralised, I take it?"

The Curator nodded quickly.  
"I regret to inform you that one of our members slipped through under the influence of an Imperio, during your last visit," said the man gravely. "The suspect was apprehended an hour ago trying to gain entrance with the unfortunate member's guest pass. Preliminary questioning implicated you as the target."

Arcturus looked grim.  
"Is the infiltrator still in custody?"

The Curator nodded again.  
"I would be much obliged if you could assist us in our enquiries," he said. "The suspect is not being very cooperative; perhaps you know the right questions to be asking..."

"Where is he?" said Arcturus shortly, furrowing his brow.

"In a small holding room in the security department, upstairs by my office," explained the Curator, gesturing towards the stairwell again.

Arcturus hesitated, and looked over at Harry.  
"Can you guarrantee security for my guest?" he asked. At the older man's nod, he addressed the Boy-Who-Lived. "Wait by the bar. Do not forget what I said. If I have not returned within thirty minutes, use the Portkey and wait until I get back before venturing to explain your absence."

"Can't I come with you?" Harry whispered, leaning in close to Arcturus in the hope of remaining out of earshot of the Curator before them.

"Your presence would only serve to antagonise the spy," explained Arcturus, his tone indicating that he would otherwise welcome the boy to accompany him. He nudged Harry towards the bar. "Go on, our elf will meet you at the bar and fetch you whatever you wish. The Tapas menu is particularly favourable. I won't be long."

"Well I am getting a bit peckish," admitted Harry, quietly excusing himself.

"Lead the way, Curator," said Arcturus in a business-like tone, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to face the Death Eater who had coerced a fellow club member to spy on him.

* * *

Precisely fifteen minutes later, Arcturus emerged from the Curator's office, briskly clasping the hooks of his cufflinks and straightening his robes. As a native of Britain, the actions of the Death Eater could not be investigated by the local authorities, and rather than have the man extradited to the inept British Ministry, Arcturus had been given the option of dealing with matters internally. Legally speaking, they should have referred the matter to the London Ministry, but not only was Arcturus reluctant to comply with procedure, but the club was equally hesitant to drag its good name into official records. It turned out to be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both.

"Arcturus!" a bright, female voice beckoned him towards the bar as he scanned the crowd for his guest.

Following the sound of the voice, Arcturus was surprised to find Harry in the girl's company.  
"Alyssa," drawled Arcturus in acknowledgement, sidling up alongside the girl as she swivelled around on her barstool to greet him. Returning the enthusiastic girl's embrace, he planted a chaste kiss on her cheek and smiled warmly, possessively resting an arm around the girl's shoulders as they turned to face Harry. "I see you found Harry."

"You know each other?" spluttered Harry, eyes wide after having just witnessed Arcturus' exchange with the girl.

"You didn't tell him?" said Arcturus, a brow raised, a wordless wave of his wand signifying the activation of a Privacy Charm.

"I didn't know he was here with you," said Alyssa in light-hearted defence.

Arcturus rolled his eyes.  
"Haven't you been paying attention to developments across the Isles? Potter's as good as my brother, who else would he be here with?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Harry, in the absence of a formal introduction, I would like for you to meet Alyssa Montgomery, my girlfriend."

His head still reeling from Arcturus having so casually referred to him as a 'brother', Harry made a note to question the older boy about the inference later and blinked in disbelief.  
"Girlfriend?" he said, gaping slightly. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend!"

"What, just because Bane had me under her thumb, didn't mean I couldn't mingle with a mortal," leered Arcturus, tightening his hold on his catch. "In fact, it was Esme who introduced us, wasn't it, Alyssa?"

"Arcturus..." said Alyssa warningly, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"What?" said Arcturus indignantly. "Harry can keep a secret. One of his father's best friends is one of Greyback's too; you didn't think you were the only one to flee his pack, did you?"

"Arcturus!" Alyssa growled, her eyes flashing amber.

"What? I cast a Privacy Charm! I'm not saying anything Potter wouldn't find out eventually..." said Arcturus, not seeing a problem. Ignoring his girlfriend's glare, he turned to Harry to explain. "Alyssa was bitten when she was nine years old; her family was killed. One of Esmerelda's friends brought her back to the coven and she grew up there until I convinced one of the packs at the Durmstrang to let her in."

"How'd she get membership here?" Harry blurted impulsively, his hand snapping up to cover his mouth as soon as he realised what he'd said. "I... I... I mean..."

Arcturus chuckled mirthlessly, his hand unwrapping from Alyssa's shoulders in favour of reaching down and squeezing her hand in support.  
"Alyssa's a Music Mage, aren't you 'lyssa?" he said quietly, his eyes not leaving the girl seated on the high stool beside him. "She's one of a kind."

"Don't pay any attention to him, Harry," said Alyssa modestly. "It's an inside joke. Music Mages are highly sought, but not extinct, though I do happen to be the only Mage to have been bitten by a you-know-what... and Arcturus, I _cannot believe_ that you told like that!"

Leaning away from his girlfriend's half-hearted attempt to slap his arm, Arcturus offered Harry an explanation.  
"She's a little sensitive about her wicked monthlies," he said, smiling in anticipation of Alyssa's ire.

"You make it sound like I get all melodramatic about my _menses_!" hissed Alyssa, glaring at Arcturus.

Arcturus shrugged.  
"Menstruation, Lycanthropy... both occur once a lunar month," he teased, feigning ignorance. Turning to Harry for help, he beckoned for the teen's cooperation. "Go on, Harry, tell her they're both equally insignificant!"

Like a Keeper trapped in the path of a Bludger, Harry's eyes went wide, and he spluttered incomprehensibly. Coming to his rescue, Arcturus was quick to relent.  
"Relax, Potter, she's not going to bite," he leered, his eyes glinting with mirth. He dodged Alyssa's hand again. Suddenly turning serious, he regarded his female acquaintance with a careful look. "I'm glad I ran into you tonight; I fear you cannot return to the pack at Durmstrang."

"I know," said Alyssa guardedly, her shoulders slumping as she took advantage of her boyfriend's Privacy Charm to let down her own shields. "The new Headmaster was appointed the morning after the full moon; a few of the vampires loyal to Bane smuggled me out to the Coven whilst I was still recovering. I heard Greyback scoured the school for me two days ago..."

Sharing his girlfriend's shudder of repulsion, Arcturus tightened his grip on the girl's hand and leant in close, bodily offering his support. Bowing his head, he sighed.  
"You cannot return to the Coven either, I fear," he said in defeat, his hair sweeping over his face and curtaining his features in shadow. "My uncle removed my Token."

Alyssa's eyes flicked to Arcturus' neck, widened slightly, before renewing their steely resolve.  
"Token or no, Esmerelda would never see you harmed," she assured Arcturus, a little surprise evident in her tone at the very thought that he would conceive such a notion.

Swiftly, Arcturus freed his hand from her grasp and opened it up, palm facing upwards, for both teens to inspect.  
"When Esmerelda saw I was without a Token, she took other measures to protect me," he said quietly.

"Why would she do that?" Alyssa cried out, snatching Arcturus' hand and pulling it towards her to inspect more closely. "She's had a taste now, she'll not stop thirsting for you... why would she separate herself from you so forcibly?"

"The same reason you were smuggled from Durmstrang as you slept," said Arcturus thickly, giving Alyssa a meaningful look.

Letting go of Arcturus' hand, Alyssa pulled back and shook her head.  
"I do wish you would stop going after him, Arcturus!" she snapped, her hand shaking as she wagged a finger at the teen. "You are toying with fate! Showing him you are affected only encourages him!"

"Monsters like that don't need encouragement," said Arcturus lowly. "They need to be stopped. End of story."

"I am not disputing that, Arcturus, but does it always have to be you?" said Alyssa pleadingly. "It's not your job to save every child he targets..."

"I haven't saved every child he targets," said Arcturus defensively.

"That happened eight years ago, Arcturus, you have to let it go!" said Alyssa sympathetically. "Just look at all you've done since... just look at what you've done for me! I don't think I could have lasted another moon in his hellish den."

"No one should have to," said Arcturus, his jaw set in a hardline.

Confused by the direction the conversation was heading, yet not so ignorant of the body language lending to the building tension, Harry seized the opportunity to change the subject.  
"What did that owner guy want?" he asked curiously, causing Alyssa to whip her head around and look to Arcturus in equal question.

"The Curator wanted a private audience with you?" she said, her brows raising above her eyeline. "You've been holding out on us, Arcturus!"

"A security breach, since neutralised," said Arcturus dismissively, the echo of the recently exchanged words keeping him agitated. "I have since ammended my personal security charms to warn me of the signs."

"The security here detected a member under Imperio," said Harry to Alyssa in explanation, repeating all he had heard whilst in the Curator's company.

"A Death Eater thought he could gain entry to this establishment by placing a member under Imperius?" said Alyssa, scoffing indignantly. "Either they are clearly stupid, or increasingly desperate."

"Do not underestimate the enemy," said Arcturus levelly. "They knew how to detect a club member, and our location, we must grant them that."

"So what happened, did the Curator call in the British Ministry?" asked Alyssa conversationally, the tone of their earlier topic seemingly cast aside. She helped herself to the Tapas platter Harry had ordered earlier and popped an olive into her mouth. "They do realise how inept the English are?"

"No, it was decided that it would be mutually beneficial to all involved to handle things internally," said Arcturus lightly, the expression on his face saying more than words ever could. "Of course, it was perhaps not so fortunate for the Death Eater they'd captured..."

"What did you do?" whispered Alyssa in curious awe, gripping his wrist gently and shaking it in question. She turned to Harry with eyes filled with adoration and anticipation. "Have you seen him in action, yet, Harry? He's amazing!"

"Alyssa, you're gushing," said Arcturus warningly, though his eyes twinkled with barely hidden warmth. He shook his head at Harry. "I am competent in the field, Potter, but hardly as invincible as Alyssa would like to make out."

"What _did_ you do to the Death Eater?" asked Harry, ignoring the pair's flirtation in favour of voicing his own curiosity.

"Oh, I simply Obliviated the man," said Arcturus flippantly, his overly-casual tone suggesting that things were not quite as simple as that. He relented with a devillish smirk. "Of course, I may have been a _tad_ enthusiastic. The poor lad couldn't even remember his name... tisk, tisk."

"You know the Dark Lord will soon as kill the man once he discovers how useless you've rendered him!" scolded Alyssa, frowning. "Are you sure that was necessary?"

"Relax, Alyssa, I am not a complete tyrant," said Arcturus in his own defence. "I would not subject a man to a fate he has no memory of having deserved. The Curator has personally assured me that the man will be properly admitted to St Mungo's."

"Perhaps he can have the bed next to Lockhart's," mused Harry aloud, surprisingly sympathising with Arcturus' method of handling things.

"Lockhart?" asked Alyssa, furrowing her brow in question.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts in my second year," explained Harry. "Made his living by taking the credit for other people's work after Obliviating them. Tried to scramble my mind with my best friends' broken wand and the spell back-fired and hit him."

"Hogwarts hasn't lasted a year without going through a Defence teacher," said Arcturus on the side. "They say the position is cursed."

"I suppose you're going there this year, then," said Alyssa with a sigh, correctly reading into the boy's sudden knowledge of the school.

"There's a place for you too, if you want it," said Arcturus firmly. "In fact, I would insist."

"Arcturus..." said Alyssa hesitantly. "You know how Britons look down upon... upon people like me. My presence would not be welcomed."

"Alyssa," said Harry, silently seeking Arcturus' approval before continuing. At the older boy's nod, he continued. "That friend of my father's, that Arcturus mentioned; he was my Defence teacher in third year. He attended Hogwarts for seven years even though he had been bitten well before he turned 11. I can't promise you that all the students will be understanding if they found out, but Headmaster Dumbledore would not turn you away."

"Really?" said Alyssa, with renewed hope in her eyes. At Durmstrang, the Dark Creatures given refuge within the school's boundaries were kept segregated from the main alumni, and they were not permitted to participate in the scheduled lessons. Thankfully, the student body of Durmstrang was receptive to the plights of their half-breed guests, and endeavoured to tutor the uneducated as much as they could; Arcturus having personally seen to Alyssa's lessons. The clandestine classes were, by nature, one-on-one, so the idea of being accepted into a mainstream student body and allowed to follow a recognised syllabus was enough to make the teenaged werewolf's head spin.

"Yes, really," said Arcturus impatiently, bored with conversation and keen to hit the dance floor. "Now come dance with me."

"Ah, so chivalrous," teased Alyssa, resisting slightly as Arcturus tugged her from her stool. "Now ask me nicely and I might consider it."

Letting go of her hand, Arcturus narrowed his eyes and called his girlfriend's bluff.  
"Fine, then," he smirked, backing away. "I'll go snatch up someone else; I am certain there are quite a few girls over there who wouldn't mind dancing with me."

Growling under her breath, Alyssa darted forward with preternatural reflexes and grabbed Arcturus by the arm.  
"No, you will dance with me," she ordered in what was a reversal of roles, the determined girl being the one to now pull her partner towards the dancefloor. "Excuse us, Harry."

"Remember what I said about that Hex," Arcturus called over his shoulder at Harry, indicating that the bespectacled teen should find a suitable partner and join them.

Arcturus' departure spelling the end of the Privacy Charm around him, Harry was suddenly aware of several pairs of feminine eyes upon him. Pushing aside his snack and downing the rest of his drink, the brash Gryffindor swallowed heavily and hopped down from his stool, a small amount of liquid courage leading him towards the closest gaggle of girls.


	14. Lost & Found

**Disclaimer: **If it were mine, I would be upgrading my plane tickets and going to London for the book launch instead of Edinburgh (oopps!!!)...

**Updated: **Tuesday 5 June 2007  
**Edited: **Wednesday 02 January 2008

**Chapter 14: Lost & Found.**

The sky was grey with the promise of dawn as two lone figures cut a trail through the dewy grass.

"You shouldn't be out here," the fairer of the two warned, his soft amber eyes looking almost predatory as they glanced around in precaution.

"My godson and nephew are missing, and I am not allowed to join the search," the taller wizard growled in an agitated whisper. "Do not begrudge me a walk around the park! You know I had to get out of that house!"

The wise werewolf said nothing, his rigid form belying the fact that he was not about to relax so long as they remained outside.

"We used to fly around in this square," said Sirius suddenly, reminiscing. He nodded towards some hedges; "...duel within that clearing over there. Father was always spelling the tree-trunks, to hide all the curse marks."

Remus Lupin turned and regarded his friend with a frown.  
"In the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood?" he said in disbelief. "How was that even possible?"

"The same way the house can appear and disappear with passing Muggles remaining oblivious," said Sirius with a shrug.

He pointed to the gravel path that cut across the square, parallel with the house.  
"Any magic performed between that path and the house cannot be detected," he explained smugly. "My family made sure to register the house as a magical property before layering in the Disillusionment Charms, so the Ministry has no idea how much of a black spot they signed off on. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"I suppose you put up Muggle-Repelling Charms whenever you used magic out here, then," stated Remus, a strange glint in his eye. "My, my, Sirius, that wasn't very neighbourly of you."

"Yes," said Sirius, suddenly distracted. They had reached a point at the boundary of the treeline and as Master of the wards, the fugitive Animagus could detect something amiss.

A split second later, Remus could sense it too.  
"Do you hear that?" he whispered, nodding towards the trees, his sensitive ears picking up the sound of battle cries and clashing weaponry.

Tuning into his own, albeit muted in his human form, canine senses, Sirius paled when he noted that he could hear it too. Without words, the two men drew their wands and dashed toward a gap in the brush, determined to investigate what awaited them beyond; neither man quite prepared for what they then found.  
"Expelliarmus!" yelled Sirius without thought, throwing a disarming spell towards the unidentified witch who was attacking his nephew.

"No, wait!" said Remus, grabbing the man's arm and sending his spell awry. "They're duelling."

"_Were_ duelling," snapped Arcturus, his uncle's loud casting drawing his immediate attention.

The teen was shirtless and dripping with sweat, the long staff in his hands matching the stick his partner weilded. They had forgone the Portkey to his room in favour of Flooing to the Leaky Cauldron in disguise, and making their way out to Grimmauld Place via Muggle taxi. Having overheard a passing contingent of Order members, the group apparently dispatched to search for what was right under their noses, Arcturus was reluctant to expose Alyssa to the hellfire that would welcome them if they entered into a house full of Order members. So, casting a subtle spell at the house that would inform him, as its owner, when the coast was relatively clear, they had retreated to a corner of the square that was bordered by brush on all sides, and passed the time by giving Harry a little demonstration. 

"You're getting rusty, my friend," said Alyssa, ignoring the newcomers in favour of appraising her teacher's technique. "You almost cast aloud several times."

Before they had moved onto hand-to-hand combat with their transfigured staffs, the pair had captivated their audience with a Non-Verbal Duel; Arcturus fully intending on questioning the Hogwarts alumni on just why such magic was not introduced until sixth year. Shaking such thoughts from his mind, the experienced dueller levelled a glare in the direction of his female opponent.

"It would serve you well, Montgomery, to not get so cocky," he warned the smirking girl. "There is much I have yet to teach you."

The fair-haired girl was indignant, her hazel eyes flashing dangerously as she closed in.  
"Rubbish!" she scoffed. "We're even and you know it!"

Arcturus narrowed his eyes at the unspoken challenge and met his friend half way, his arm lazily draping around her waist as he leant in close, all but oblivious to their adult onlookers.  
"Aye," he said, smirking. "Had you let me _finish_, I might have added that there is still much you have to teach _me_."

"_Might_ have added," pointed out Alyssa, worming out of Arcturus' playful grip and staring him down with her hands on her hips. "Now aren't you going to introduce me to your uncle?"

Sirius lowered his wand in surprise, altogether unaware of the fact that he'd kept it trained on the mysterious girl.  
"How do you know who I am?" he spluttered, once again unnerved at a stranger's ability to see through his disguise.

"Oh pish," sneered the girl, looking Sirius up and down in disapproval. "Anyone with half a mind could see through that Glamourie. Besides, you and Arcturus share blood; your scent gives you away-" she sniffed tentatively "-although I will say that there is something a little off about you. You have two forms, yes?"

"And so do you," said Remus suddenly, his brow furrowing in a mix of confusion and disbelief as his own senstive nose uncovered the girl's secret.

Alyssa smiled wolfishly at him and bowed teasingly.  
"Arcturus warned me about you," she said, cocking her head to one side and staring at the older werewolf critically. "..._Brother._"

"Brother?" said Sirius, looking to his friend for answers.

Answering Harry's own questioning look, Arcturus rolled his eyes.  
"Werewolf speak," he said out of the side of his mouth. Reclaiming his posessive hold on Alyssa, he snarled in her ear. "Down girl."

Relenting, Alyssa turned her face up dismissively at the stunned werewolf before her and leaned into Arcturus.  
"You're right," she said secretively. "He's no brother of mine... he's too... _domesticated_..."

"Yes, and you're just such a wild, dirty little beast," teased Arcturus, nudging the side of Alyssa's head with his own in what was a mockery of how two wolves might greet each other.

"I may not bow down and be Fenrir's little bitch, but at least I haven't forgotten what it means to be wolf," said Alyssa analytically, with only a hint of defensiveness in her voice.

"Yes, I've already said it," Arcturus teased again. "You're a wild, dirty, little beast."

"I'm _you're_ wild, dirty, little beast," corrected Alyssa in an equal tone of playfulness.

"One who has a name, I presume?" said Sirius leadingly, unable to bring himself to repeat what his nephew had so openly called the girl.

"Alyssa Montgomery," said Arcturus in formal introduction. "My oldest friend in the world, who happens to also be female. Alyssa, my uncle, Sirius Black, and _his_ oldest friend left in the world..."

"-Remus Lupin," finished Alyssa, knowing the oldest of Greyback's runaways from reputation alone. The man was renown for having outlived all others who had dared to avoid the Alpha's fold.

"Right, then, now will someone _please_ tell me what is going on here?" said Sirius awkwardly, uncomfortable with the feeling that he was missing something. Yet to figure out what made his illusive nephew tick, he honed in on Harry. "Where the bloody hell were you two last night?"

"Arcturus took me to the Club," said Harry quickly, eager to atone for his misdeeds so that he can get his punishment over with and start to learn new things from Arcturus.

"Club?" said Sirius, his prestigious pureblood upbringing ensuring that he did not not miss the inference.

"Club_ House_," corrected Arcturus, lying swiftly. "I took Harry to work. I had a meeting."

"Well why didn't you tell me?" asked Sirius, not quite believing the boy's tale, but willing to take things at face value if it meant getting in off the street sooner.

Arcturus shrugged, his response carrying a measure of truth.  
"I've never had to account for my activities before," he said flippantly; "and I knew Harry couldn't leave the house without a fuss – I just wanted to do the kid a favour; much like your friend is doing right now, letting you out without your leash."

Not appreciating his nephew's derogatory tone, but unable to fault its accuracy, Sirius found that he could not really punish the boys' actions without coming across as a hypocrite.  
"Look, I can't say I blame you," he sympathised with the pair; "but I am not going to take your side when the Order get their hands on you."

"Why should we care what the Order thinks?" said Arcturus loftily. "If Harry and I are to answer to anyone, it would only be _you_."

A girl's laughter broke through the otherwise tense aftermath of Arcturus' admission.  
"Oh, I never thought I'd see the day," said Alyssa between fits of giggles. "Arcturus Black, answering to authority."

"I answered to my Masters at Durmstrang, how is this any different?" snapped Arcturus, put out by his friend's amusement.

"You followed their rules, but you never _answered _to them," said Alyssa wisely. "This is different – I can smell it. You're-"

"-Don't you say it, wolf," snarled Arcturus, his eyes wide as he realised what it was his girlfriend could sense; something he himself had never believed he'd be capable of.

Submission. 

"You're an Alpha," said Remus suddenly, slack-jawed as he witnessed the younger werewolf bow her head under Arcturus' intense glare. He looked over at Sirius. "Even without a Token..."

"Old habits die hard," said Arcturus gruffly, reaching out and taking Alyssa's hand in unspoken apology. He shook his head at the bewildered looks he got. "No, I doubt I'd retain such an effect on the unwilling-"

"Arcturus became my Alpha after he helped me after my attack," explained Alyssa, stepping noticeably closer to her protector as she reflected on the horrors of her past. "Who was it for you? Your father, I suspect..."

"Yes," said Remus dreamily, mesmerised by the young girl's unspoken ability to identify with the darker side of his own existence.

Sirius looked between the two werewolves, a little disturbed by how intently they were staring at each other. He looked to Arcturus for help.  
"When did all this happen?" he asked, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

"My ninth birthday," said Arcturus darkly. Despite what he was about to tell his uncle, he now duly suspected that Esmerelda had set Alyssa up; much like she had admitted to have done the Muggle girl before her. There was no denying the fact that being able to save Alyssa and keep her protected in first the Coven and later at Durmstrang, had helped him overcome the loss of the unfortunate neighbourhood girl he had not been able to save; not that he would ever consider telling that to Alyssa anytime soon.  
"Someone in Esmerelda's circle had caught wind of a young girl being bitten and taken forcibly by a pack. I got Alyssa out whilst Esme' kept Greyback busy. It took almost a year before I could get her to speak again; we've been friends ever since."

"Fenrir Greyback bit you?" said Remus, paling.

"Killed my family too," said Alyssa with a shudder, remembering how gallantly her father and uncles had fought to keep her from being taken on the eve of her first full moon as a werewolf; how she'd managed to survive that first transformation in _his_ company – a feat that surprised her still. "Arcturus is my family now."

At the mention of family, Arcturus reminisced about the first time he had brought his best friend home to meet his 'family', shortly after his eleventh birthday.  
"Grandmother's portrait almost leapt out of its frame when I first snuck Alyssa home for the full moon. Aunt Lucretia locked herself up in the attic for three days, it was great!"

"Don't talk about that," said Alyssa darkly. "I still don't know why you just didn't Curse the woman and be done with her. You may only have been eleven, but you were more than capable of defending yourself!"

"Arcturus, what is she talking about?" said Sirius, eyes narrowing.

"Let's just say Lucretia didn't know how to take a joke," said Arcturus with a shrug, though to the one who knew him, they could see the boy cringe at the memory of the lashes that scarred his back still. He shook his head dismissively. "I should have known better than to test her after Great-Grandfather died, but I cast a Numbing Charm, and Alyssa, what's to say I _didn't_ curse the wench in the end? She died before that next full moon, didn't she?"

"You told me she died in her sleep!" said Alyssa.

"She _did_," vowed Arcturus, though his tone suggested he was leaving something out.

Wanting to move away from the insinuation that his nephew had murdered a relative before the end of his first year, Sirius turned their attention to the rising sun that was bathing them in light.  
"I think we ought to head inside," he suggested weakly, his voice layered with false casualness as he began the awkward process of trying to suggest to his nephew that he send his friend home so that they could protect the integrity of Order headquarters. "It was nice to meet you, Alyssa, wasn't it?"

"Oh, don't be so hasty, _Uncle_," said Arcturus, leeringly. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to learn all about Alyssa – she's now my guest."

Sirius frowned at his nephew's bluntness, not altogether surprised by the turn of events, but at a loss how to circumvent them. Darting his eyes nervously in the direction of Arcturus' illusive friend, the weary Animagus sidled up towards his nephew and frowned.  
"Arcturus..." he said leadingly. "I know I never consulted you about what the house is _presently being used for_, but so long as it is being commissioned for such purposes you must consider the integrity of-"

"She stays, or the Order goes," said Arcturus coolly, knowing that he had more right of the physical property in the Black estate than his disowned uncle could ever claim. He turned to face the man fully, his eyes blazing with determination. "Alyssa would never betray _anyone_ to someone Greyback has aligned himself with."

Surprisingly, it was Remus who added to her defence, haunted golden eyes seeing the young girl with acute understanding.  
"She's bound herself to Arcturus," he observed in awe, his lupine senses confirming as such. "She's as loyal as a bloody Hufflepuff."

Sirius flinched, despite his friend's candour; the reminder that werewolves were pack animals and thus loyal to their peers reigniting the guilt he still felt for ever doubting the man's own integrity. Vowing then, to learn from his foolish past by placing his trust in someone who had yet to prove undeserving, Sirius nodded.  
"I'm not going to make any friends doing this," he sighed, refering to the Order's reaction. "But it is still your home, and if they can't trust our judgement then that's their problem."

"Thank you," said Arcturus curtly, not so much acknowledging the man's permission, but grateful for what it implied. Turning to his new houseguest, he cast aside his staff, the long polished wood transforming back into its original form as it hit the grass, and offered his arm to the girl. "Come, Alyssa, let's get you settled and rested. This afternoon we'll go shopping for your school things."

* * *

Sirius had been reluctant, the Order dead-set against, Arcturus' proposed journey to Diagon Alley. Anticipating his enrolment, Molly Weasley had fetched Arcturus' school supplies when she had made the trip on behalf of the other children, and once her presence had been accepted by the vigilante group, Dumbledore had likewise assured Alyssa that it would be no trouble for the Order to compile the items on her school list. In the end, it had been the pair's impressive duelling display in the square that had prompted both Remus and Sirius to vouch for their ability to hold their own, suggesting that, as virtual unknowns, a venture into the wizarding shopping district would not come at risk to the Order. That said, several Order members had insisted on a shadow-guard, though whether this was because they doubted the teenagers' ability to keep themselves out of trouble or simply did not quite trust them not to bring trouble home, remained unsaid.

"Where do you think you're going?" a deep booming voice emerged from the shadows, demanding answers, as he hastened to prevent his charges entering Knocturn Alley.

"Replenishing my Potions kit," said Arcturus breezily, moving to side-step the tall, dark-skinned man who now stood before him.

"Apothecary is back the way you came," said Kingsley Shacklebolt pointedly.

"That over-priced offal-trader?" scoffed Arcturus, glaring up at the Auror in challenge. "I think not. Come along, Alyssa, I will show you where my father, and later I, used to work."

"The Apothecary in Diagon Alley is where all the students get their Potions Kit from," argued Shacklebolt, not giving an inch. Of course, he left out the part where the school's supply was sourced from the wholesaler Arcturus seemed intent on visiting.

"Well then it's no wonder my cousin despises teaching so much," countered Arcturus levelly. "No self-respecting Potions Master would willingly condone their students using such substandard ingredients. Now step aside; I will not hesitate to take the appropriate counter measures if you do not."

Watching as the two stubborn minds glared at each other daringly, Nymphadora Tonks exchanged a look with the quietly observing Alyssa and stepped in.  
"Come on, Kingsley, let them by," she said airily. "If Remus and _Snuffles _say they can hold their own, then I believe it. Besides, Arcturus looks like he knows where he's going."

"Thank you, Nymphadora," said Arcturus congenially, refusing to call his marginally more favourable cousin by her father's Muggleborn surname.

"Keep calling me that, _Archie-Phin_, and I may not continue to be so charitable," threatened Tonks playfully, scowling at the use of her given name and countering it with an endearment of her own.

"'_Archie-Phin'_, oh, that is a good one," giggled Alyssa, impervious to the daggers her friend was now shooting their way. "Daring, but brilliant."

"Yes, well, it was either that or Mr All-Points Bulletin," said Tonks flippantly, tying Arcturus' initials to the bizarre Muggle reference. "But I figured the Muggle inference would be lost on our little pureblooded friend."

Arcturus narrowed his eyes and scowled, levelling a glare at his cousin as he led the way towards a deceptively small Apothecary outlet on the better fringe of Knockturn.  
"I'll have you know, _Nymphadora_, that Muggle Studies was a compulsory component of all Reconnaisance and Strategy Classes. After all, as the Auror's program clearly outlines, you never know when you may have to pose as a Muggle."

"All warfare is based on deception," said Alyssa wisely. "The ultimate in disposing one's troops is to be without ascertainable shape."

"Sun Tzu," said Kingsley, surprised at the reference. Sun Tzu's prized Muggle centrepiece '_The_ _Art of War_' was closely utilised in military training, Muggle and magical alike, but to hear it quoted by a fifteen year-old werewolf whose sworn protector was a proud pureblood was astounding. "What did you say your last name was, again?"

"Her blood is pure, if that's what you're questioning," Arcturus cut in knowingly. "Muggle though he may be, Tzu's principles are widely applicable, and respected, within the Durmstrang curriculum."

Further surprised by the young Black's insistence that the blood of his female companion was pure despite her affliction, Kingsley decided to quit while he was ahead, allowing himself to be silently led into the boutique Apothecary; a place that would escape attention if one did not know it was there. No sooner had they crossed the threshold of the insanely narrow door did a small, portly woman descend upon them; the proprietor emerging from the shadows as though beckoned by a bell only she could hear

"Arcturus Black!" the woman exclaimed in delight, singling out the muddy-haired teen immediately, bustling over to him and methodically inspecting his hands.

"Such a shame, you let them grow," she said forlornly, tracing the length of one finger with her own, shaking her head as she did so. "If you had taken the potion I offered, I might have given you tenure. Slender and nimble fingers... best I've ever seen with a knife."

Arcturus shook his head slowly. A friend of his great-aunt, Perpetua Bergstrom had given Arcturus his first job. Every Friday, Monday and Wednesday, a shipment of untreated Potions ingredients would arrive at Grimmauld Place; it becoming the young boy's duty to prepare the the ingredients for sale. At the time, Lucretia had convinced him that his 'meagre' allowance from the Black Trust was otherwise invested in running the house, and that he had to take the at-home position in order to keep himself fed and clothed. Looking back, the seasoned teen could barely begrudge his greedy guardian the experience; it gave him something meaningful to do and helped him acquire skills he'd otherwise never develop to such profficiency, even if he never got to spend a cent of what he had earnt on the frivolous things little boys ought to have indulged themselves with. He smiled at his former employer.

"It is the size of a Potions Master's patience that belies efficiency, not the size of their hands," he corrected the woman.

Having been otherwise contracted to the woman for an unspecified period of service, the only way Arcturus had been able to renege on the arrangement his great-aunt had brokered on his behalf in the years before her death, was to submit substandard work and get fired. He'd no time to keep up with the woman's orders once he'd commenced his education at Durmstrang, and when Lucretia had died towards the end of his first year, he'd no longer had a need for the work. Conveniently, the slightly batty woman had blamed his growing hands for the declining quality of his work, and had let him go without any hard feelings. Letting go of his hands, the woman tutted.  
"Ah, so distracted by childhood pursuits," she said remissively, a small smile playing at her lips. "But I cannot complain, you lasted longer than any of the other boys. It is good to see you, Arcturus!"

"And you, m'lady," said Arcturus with an indulgent bow, raising a brow as he raised the woman's hand to his lips in formal greeting. "Alas, I come for business and not pleasure."

Aware of his entourage for the first time, Mrs Bergstrom eyed the trio in order from oldest to youngest, her wary eyes only warming at the sight of Arcturus' lady friend.  
"Yes, of course," she said in a businesslike manner, her head nodding inperceptively at Alyssa as her mind inwardly processed who the girl was to Arcturus and silently acknowledged her accordingly. "What can I get for you on this wonderful afternoon?"

"Two Hogwarts kits and double quantities of my usual supply," said Arcturus politely. Eager to avoid the questions he knew the woman would soon ask, he gestured towards the door. "I regret to say that I have other business to conduct in the Alley within a very confined time frame. I trust you can have my order ready upon my return? The same boy is preparing the ingredients this summer?"

The woman nodded; had she not, Arcturus would have insisted on inspecting samples of the new employee's work, processing the raw ingredients himself if the quality was below his standard.  
"Write me a letter," she requested, genuinely interested in the boy's progress. The association between the Bergstroms and Blacks crossed many generations, with Perpetua not only being close friends with Lucretia, but also the goddaughter of Arcturus' namesake and former employer of his own father, Regulus. As though struck by a memory, she clasped her hand over her bossom and sighed, her hardened hazel eyes softening as they met cerulean blue. "You grow more like your father every day, Arcturus. Your namesake would be proud."

Promising to write, and receiving the woman's assurances that his order would both be ready and above standard, Arcturus thanked the woman sincerely and vacated the tiny store, heading directly across the dark alley to another store; this time a Tailor's.  
"What are we doing here?" Knigsley demanded to know, his dark eyes shifting around warily as they tried to keep up with all the threats that were inherent in any trip to Knocturn. "We've already been to Malkin's!"

"That was for school robes," said Arcturus with a degree of condescension. He nodded towards Alyssa. "The woman favours silver thread for her range of Dress Robes; Tailor Gumb does not. I prefer his craftmanship for my personal attire."

Unable to fault the teen's desire to furnish the young werewolf with Dress Robes that would not scald her, Kingsley nodded.  
"Make it quick," he said gruffly. "You never know who you might run into in this place."

* * *

After being measured for a new season of Dress and Casual robes, and collecting a custom order that had been awaiting final inspection, the group made their way out of Knockturn Alley, bound for Flourish and Blotts. Watching as a team of delivery elves popped out of sight, delivering the rather large consignment of armoury to the undisclosed address of a classmate, Kingsley made a note to needle the teen later about just where he had managed to come across fresh flayings of Demiguise skin.

"Hunting with Bane," said Arcturus, without looking around, the teen having felt the man's eyes on his box and anticipating the unasked question. "...And no, I do not know if I can locate another."

The Demiguise – or, more specifically, their skin – was an extremely rare commodity. Chameleons within their environment, they were not so much low in numbers as they were highly illusive; the thread from their skin just as invisible as its source. It was virtually impossible to kill the invisible creature, but they were known to shed their skin several times a year. The discarded skin was often barely visible and extremely delicate, disintegrating into useless dust within hours of being shed; making it extremely difficult for wizards to find the flayings and preserve them for weaving into thread.

Narrowing his eyes at the marked lack of cooperation – a ready supply of Demiguise skin would put the Order, and the Ministry, in an enviable battle position – Kingsley frowned.  
"You know, I don't think it's entirely legal for a teenager to be in posession of such battle robes. What inspired you to have such an armour designed?"

"Stealth... camoflague... protection..." listed Arcturus conversationally, not breaking his easy pace. "The same reason I imagine you are currently trying to concoct a way to conviscate my property without provocation."

"How much was left over?" asked Kingsley, stepping closer to the resourceful young wizard and leaning down towards his ear. He did not deny the teen's words.

"With all those Charms layered into the fabric, it could not have been so cheap as the figure I saw you pay."

"What makes you think I exchanged services for thread, and wasn't simply making one of many installments?" Arcturus left the question to hang, quickening his pace as they reached the bookstore; the secretive teen intent on losing the inquisitive man in the crowds of last-minute shoppers.

"I will be informing the headmaster of this," warned Kingsley, letting the subject drop... for now. Seeing the boy ignore his promise, heading instead towards the Auror section of the bookstore – completely bypassing the student supplies – he exchanged an exasperated look with his partner and scowled. He knew better, however, than to attempt to question the boy's choice in reading; his authority to meter such judgement something neither teen in his company was willing to hear. The best either of the Order's guard could hope for was to observe and report.

"Oh no," whispered Alyssa, from her place at Tonks' side; the quiet werewolf had shifted into the shadows, paling at the sight of the tall figure following Arcturus behind a high wall of shelves.

Kingsley's hand shot towards his wand, the experienced Auror catching the glint of blonde before it rounded the corner.  
"Lucius Malfoy," he whispered, looking towards Tonks and gesturing for her to take Alyssa and approach from the opposite flank.

Meanwhile, deep in the shadowing alcove that stored a limited supply of questionable texts, Arcturus was not oblivious to his unwelcome company.  
"Lucius," he sneered, completely ignoring the man in favour of inspecting the spine of an Ancient Runes book.

"Arcturus," said Lucius, following the boy's lead by casually perusing a book slightly above his eyeline. To any uninformed onlooker, they were simply two shoppers exchanging small talk whilst looking for their purchases, but a careful observer would note the rigidity of their poses; their wands never far from hand.

"What do you want, Lucius?" said Arcturus, tiring of the pretences and facing the man fully.

"Why, I am simply here to purchase a book," said Lucius silkily, looking at the boy predatorily. "It is a relief to see you looking so well. I can only imagine how difficult these past few years have been for you."

"They would have been a lot easier if you hadn't sent your goons after me," ground out Arcturus, through gritted teeth.

"But of course, I have only ever been concerned with your welfare," said Lucius in a fake, fatherly tone. "Whether you choose to admit it or not, Arcturus, the laws are in place for a reason. No matter how superior your judgement, a child of your age should not be left to their own devices."

"Well, then, you would be happy to learn that I am no longer 'left to my own devices'," said Arcturus smarmily.

"Ah, yes, I have heard about the renewed interest in your uncle's case," said Lucius with a dangerous glint in his eye, the advent of Peter Pettigrew's death not being without its repercussions for the Dark Lord's followers. Apparently, the snivelling rat Animagus had posessed something precious to the Slytherin Heir, and no Death Eater went unpunished for its loss.

"Pettigrew not the pawn Greyback took him for, eh?" said Arcturus smugly, his keen eyes not missing the Malfoy patriarch's flinch. Boldly, he stepped closer towards the man, so close he could feel the man's breath on his face as he looked up. Smirking, he gloated cheekily. "I bet you'd give your _left arm_ to fleece my home of its treasures now."

"Why you little brat!" hissed Lucius, stepping back and removing his wand from the holster in his cane. His other hand quickly reaching for what could only be a Portkey from within his robes. Their wands levelled at each other threateningly, Arcturus backing up against the shelves to avoid the man and his Portkey – all wizards knowing that to attempt Side-Apparation with an unwilling passenger could result in severe Splinching – both were oblivious to the approaching Calvary.

"Black!" Kingsley cried out in alarm, watching helplessly as the form of Lucius Malfoy completely obscured the boy in his charge from sight. Knowing the man's modus operandi, the slippery Dark wizard undoubtedly had a Portkey on his person, and with his current proximity to Arcturus, it was impossible for the Auror to take a shot. He could only hope that the cornered teen had gotten the chance to draw his wand in his own defence.

"_Portus!" _hissed Lucius Malfoy triumphantly, the contact between his Portkey and the inside of the boy's arm all it would take. He was oblivious, however, to the Non-Verbal Exploding Hex Arcturus sent at the pocket watch the moment he activated the Portkey.

Rushing forward at Malfoy's words, Kingsley was unprepared for the blast of energy and light that burst forth, flooding the narrow aisle with blinding light and knocking over shelves and wizards alike. By the time Tonks and Alyssa arrived, stumbling over a pile of books that had fallen on the side of the aisle opposite to the dark-skinned Auror, the sound of a disgruntled shopkeeper hot on their heels ringing in their ears, Kingsley was rubbing the back of his head and gaping at the empty space where the two wizards once stood.

"Sirius is going to kill me," he muttered under his breath, pulling himself back to his feet with the help of a nearby shelf. Catching the thoughtful look on Alyssa's face, the girl's eyes closed as she concentrated on inhaling the scents around them, he closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm, startling her from her reverie. "What is it, girl? What do you smell?"

"He's hurt," said Alyssa distractedly, falling limp in Kingsley's grip and passing out before she could elaborate which of the two missing wizards she was referring to.


	15. Removing the Mask

**Disclaimer: **Anything that is recognisable is borrowed from _Order of the Phoenix_. The world of Harry Potter does, of course, belong to Jo, but the OC is mine.

**Updated: **Wednesday 2nd January 2008

**A/N: **I haven't had my laptop since June, peeps... still don't have it, but have decided to break all the rules at work here in London and spend my time transcribing my handwritten scrawl... thanks to everyone who e-mailed me, enquiring after me and prodding me for an update. I am sooo sorry it has taken so long, but it really sucks not having a computer at home, especially when you are in a foreign country. I have edited all the previous chapters to be as DH compliant as I care to make them... mostly changes to do with Kreacher and how Arcturus interacts with him. From memory, chapter 8 may call for a re-read.

**Chapter 15: Removing the Mask**

The school term began the very next day. It was with a heavy heart that Sirius Black saw his godson off at King's Cross; the fate of his estranged nephew remaining unknown. With enough witnesses to corroborate that Lucius Malfoy was alone with the boy at the time of his disappearance, a warrant to search the family's prestigious Wiltshire estate had been executed hours earlier; a finger and destroyed wand belonging to the Malfoy patriarch all they found.

Officially, Arcturus Black was wanted for questioning over the suspected death, though discoveries made at the undefended stronghold – together with eye-witness testimony – suggested that the teen had acted in self defence. Whilst Lucius Malfoy's Dark Mark was readily discarded as an unwanted scar from the first war, there was no denying the suspicion that came with the recovery of a cache of high-profile stolen and contraband goods; most of which had been fleeced from the Ministry over a period of 14 years, during a time when there was no Dark Lord to coerce the man to act. In addition, a routine _Priori Incantatem_ on what remained of the man's wand proved the most incriminating, with a number of Unforgivable and other illegal Dark spells dominating the history of the most recent wand activity.

With Lucius Malfoy now so thoroughly out of the picture, the Ministry of Magic was suddenly keen to re-investigate the chain of events that had led to Sirius' arrest, and a lot of other things aside. The only reason why the canine Animagus had been permitted to accompany the departing teenagers to the train station was because it was on the way to the Ministry and he had a long overdue statement to make.

Under any other circumstances, Sirius would have been ecstatic with the imminence of his freedom, but with his nephew's whereabouts unaccounted for, he could not bring himself to feel joy. Sure enough, the boy had grown on him despite his abrasive exterior, and for the teen to not even reassure Alyssa – his best friend – of his wellbeing could only spell trouble.

"I don't like it, I don't like it at all," mumbled Remus Lupin, the two surviving Marauders enjoying a quiet drink in front of the fire later that evening. Sirius' statement was now on official record, and he was permitted to remain at large under 'Auror supervision' pending the conclusion of the Ministry's investigation. To that effect, the man was technically free, his current status the Ministry's way to buy time before having to admit to their foul.

"What don't you like?" said Sirius emptily, staring into the bottom of his glass and forcing himself to enjoy at least one mouthful of what he was consuming – it was, after all, supposed to be a celebratory drink.

"We shouldn't have put her on the train," said Remus, shaking his head. He was, of course, talking about Alyssa; the girl having not uttered a word since awakening from her fainting spell. Madame Pomfrey had diagnosed shock and dosed her to the gills with Calming Draughts, vowing that the girl would be better served by the distractions of the Hogwarts Express and a properly stocked infirmary. The adult lycan, on the other hand, had other ideas. "Merlin, Sirius, you remember what I was like after my father died... she's imprinted herself on the boy in much the same way-"

"Yes, but Arcturus is missing, not _dead_," said Sirius vehemently, though the doubt was evident in his eyes. "There's nothing we could have done for her here – perhaps being around the other kids will do her good."

"They're strangers to her," said Remus bluntly, wordlessly reminding his friend of how antisocial werewolves could be. He didn't want to remind his friend of what was left of Malfoy, thus implying that they might never find the boy's body. That was assuming, of course, that Malfoy was truly all-but-vaporised in the Portkey accident and not simply off holding Arcturus captive somewhere... something the Ministry had been forced to consider in light of Peter Pettigrew's faked death fourteen years previously.

"I wonder what houses they all got into," said Sirius, referring to the handful of Muggleborn and half-blood Durmstrang students that had transferred to Hogwarts in the wake of their headmaster's flight. "Snape'll have a conniption if they all end up in his house. If they're anything like Arcturus..."

Their musings were interrupted by the appearance of a face in the fire.  
"Black turned up," growled the flaming visage of Severus Snape, his current position as messenger seeming to be the lesser of two evils. "Pomfrey's got him."

Sirius was up and out of his chair like a shot, his crystal glass rolling onto the rug with a dull thud. Grabbing his sleeve before he could take after the snappish Potions Master – the man having disappeared from the fire as soon as his message had been imparted – Remus held his friend back.  
"Sirius, you can't. Not without an Auror, remember?" warned Remus, looking at his friend sympathetically.

"I don't care! If I can't be where I am needed, then I may as well be a fugitive!" snapped Sirius, though he knew better than to breach the Ministry's current provisions on his freedom. The Order had gone out on a limb to assign him with a sympathetic guard, and it would be a devastating blow to all who depended on him if he were to take a wrong step so close to his emancipation.

Kicking his boot against the leg of the closest lamp table, he cursed colourfully.  
"Damn Snape!" he swore, scowling at the empty fireplace. "Why'd it have to be him? Anyone else would have given us more detail than that!"

So caught up in his ranting, Sirius had failed to notice his friend cross the room and fetch his cloak.  
"Relax, Padfoot," said Remus as he reached for the Floo Powder, the movement earning him a questioning look. "_You_ may not be able to leave the house without an Auror, but I am fully capable. I will be back as soon as I have news, I promise."

"Where is he?" growled Sirius, the unshaven Animagus looking every bit the escaped fugitive he was once believed to be, the man having slept not a wink as he awaited his morning escort to the school. Remus had Flooed him within an hour of departing for the school, assuring his friend that Arcturus was heavily sedated and that he'd surely arrive before the boy awoke.

Glaring daggers at the darkly-robed man they'd found hovering over the one unmade bed in the infirmary, Sirius narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  
"What are you doing here?" he snapped at his childhood foe. "What have you got in your hand?"

Severus Snape lowered the empty ointment bottle he'd been sniffing and carefully placed it back down on the missing boy's bedside table.  
"I happen to _work here_, Black," scowled Severus Snape, not looking up from his methodical investigation of the clues the boy left behind. "Your _nephew_ has been self-medicating. Rather industrious for a Black."

Blinking in surprise at the unmistakeable respect he could hear in the Potions Master's words, Sirius darted forward and snatched away another discarded bottle of the ointment.  
"What is it?" he asked, mirroring Snape's earlier action and raising the bottle to his nose to smell it. "I recognise this. Arcturus was administering it that day in the basement..."

Nymphadora Tonks came up alongside her cousin and examined the small bottle critically before passing it on to the werewolf beside her.  
"This salve... it lingers in his scent," the werewolf observed, his brow furrowing as his own history with healing potions sparked recognition. "He uses it often. This is some sort of topical healing balm, but quite unlike anything I've ever used..."

"It is the boy's own brew," admitted Snape with an undertone of academic reverence, retrieving the bottle he'd set down and conjuring a lid to preserve the small sample remaining inside. "A topical healing ointment with what looks to be a numbing agent. I've never seen anything like it, Poppy."

The two Marauders and on-duty Auror followed the Slytherin's eyeline and were startled to see their old school nurse behind them, the woman having been partially obscured by a curtain. Bustling forward, the efficient Medi-witch rounded the three visitors and looked at Remus for answers.  
"You say he's used this often?" she asked with a frown, shaking her head in dismay. "Good Merlin, for the boy to rely on a numbing agent that much... he cannot be giving himself enough time to heal! He should not have awoken from that Sleeping Draught for at least another hour... another potion in his system must have counteracted its effects. Severus -"

"A Blood Replenishing Draught," said Tonks with a slight frown, catching everyone by surprise as she beat the resident Potions Master to respond. "Madame Pomfrey, What did your initial examination of the boy reveal?"

The matronly nurse lowered her head shamefully.  
"I didn't have a chance to properly examine him! He'd regained consciousness and reinforced his Glamours before I could get to him. I had intended on doing a proper assessment this morning, once the potions had been given a chance to take effect."

"You dosed an unfamiliar patient without first determining if he had any other potions in his system?" scowled Snape, absolutely disgusted by the woman's ineptitude.

Sirius, too, was aghast; suddenly itching to know just what had transpired the night previously. He had assumed from the nature of the teen's disappearance from Flourish and Blotts – or, rather, the state of Lucius Malfoy's bodiless finger – that Arcturus had staggered into the Great Hall in visible need of medical attention. But all this talk of Glamours and self-medicating pointed to something that was ongoing, and he didn't like it one bit. The pursuit of these emerging questions in his mind, however, would have to wait until his nephew was safely within sight. He shook his head.  
"Once we find him, I expect a full explanation of what happened," said Sirius, wagging a finger at those who had been present at the school the night before.

"How long has he been out of bed?" inquired Tonks in a tone that reminded them all of her occupation.

Looking appropriately chastised, Madame Pomfrey was eager to share what she knew.  
"I checked up on him as soon as I woke up," she vowed, fidgeting with the apron of her nurse's uniform. "I'd left only to get ready for the day and order my breakfast from the House Elves; when I next looked in on him, the infirmary was empty! He can't have left any more than twenty minutes ago... I'm so sorry, Sirius! Even without a Sleeping Draught, I hadn't thought a teenaged boy would be up so early... especially not an injured one."

"Did he say anything last night, then?" pressed Sirius. "Any idea on where he might have gone? Is he still in the castle?"

The frantic Marauder paused, blinking in realisation as he turned to his friend, his boyhood roommate reaching the same conclusion.  
"I'll go fetch Harry," said Remus, nodding once before turning and leaving the infirmary at a dignified run.

The Marauder's Map revealed Arcturus to be on the Quidditch Pitch with all of the other transfer students.  
"What is he doing outside at this hour?" whispered Harry, the dishevelled teen wearing Sirius' cloak over his pyjamas; his former Defence professor having extracted him from Gryffindor Tower before he'd even had a chance to wake up properly. They were presently crammed into Madame Pomfrey's small office, Snape having long since left for his dungeons and the school nurse still off fetching the headmaster. The lone window in the room was fogged and glazed with early morning dew, the dark grey sky outside reminding them all how early it still was. The weary teen reached behind the lenses of his glasses and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "He looked like he needed to be in the infirmary for a month!"

Making his decision, Sirius took two strides forward and rested a heavy hand on his godson's shoulder, adjusting the oversized cloak around the boy.  
"Harry, you stay here where it's warm," he urged the boy, guiding him towards an over-stuffed armchair and nudging him downwards. "We'll all have breakfast together once Arcturus is safely returned to the infirmary."

Knowing how humiliating it would be to be confronted by adults and scolded in front of an audience, Harry nodded in acquiscence and made himself comfortable in the nurse's office, unresisting as his godfather pushed him down into the chair. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could catch a few more moments sleep before having to face the first day of classes.  
"All right, Sirius," he said sleepily, wrapping his godfather's cloak around himself and finding comfort in the lingering warmth.

His heart fluttering at the sight his godson made curling up in the armchair, seemingly lost in the folds of a cloak that was many sizes too big, Sirius cast a Non-Verbal Warming Charm on his own robes and smiled down at the boy. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that he had missed so many years in Harry's life, the teen trusting him so easily and looking considerably younger than his fifteen years at that very moment.  
"Thank you, Harry," said Sirius sincerely, thanking his godson for more than just his cooperation at that moment. His hand lingered atop the dozy teenager's head, fingers carding through the messy locks indulgently. "We'll be back before you know it, kiddo."

Remus looked to his friend sharply, one of few who knew what words the wrongly-accused wizard had exchanged with his infant godson in the scant moments they'd shared before he'd taken off in pursuit of Peter Pettigrew. His expression turning sympathetic as the haunted Animagus made the same connection a moment too late, he was encouraged by the man's reaction; Sirius merely curling his lips at his own irony and squeezing his oblivious godson's shoulder. That the wizard meant his words this time, remained unspoken between the two men, Tonks already out in the hall, waiting for them impatiently.

"Clancy! Work on your Disillusionment Charm! I could see your wand movement! Biggins, watch those footsteps! I didn't commission your armour for cheap parlour tricks! You're invisible! Make use of it!" Arcturus fidgeted as he canvassed the parallel rows of students, still coming to terms with the fact that his entire class had followed him to Hogwarts; the expected handful of half-blood and Muggleborn transfers now consisting of their riveted audience.

The ex-Durmstrang students had been working through their morning training for almost half an hour. From fourth year and onward, 'Warfare and Strategy' became a formative part of their assessments and co-curricular calendar. Whilst the syllabus was mediated by the school's Masters, the practical elements of the class were administered by a Squadron Leader; each year broken into Squadrons of 12, determined by sleeping quarters, and entirely self-governed. Every spring, Squadron Leaders were elected based on academic prowess and ingenuity in the field; Arcturus' affinity with Dark creatures effectively handing him the title for two years running. When he'd sent word to his team, informing them of his new enrolment and rescinding his position, he'd made recommendations for his replacement and submitted a proposed lesson plan, expecting that to be the end of it. Why his Squadron would want to withdraw from the competition at Durmstrang – the regular skirmishes between Squadron Teams more revered than a simple Quidditch season – in order to follow him, was unfathomable, but not entirely unprecedented; Squadron members known to be loyal to each other long after graduation.

After a brief scrimmage with their staffs, the twelve fifth years had pulled on the robes that had been tailored from the fruits of their last hunting expedition together. The Chameleon Armour was crafted from lightweight dragon hide, covered with Demiguise skin and layered with a complex array of charms that would have given them an edge against their opposing Squadrons, even the seventh year Squads in the open division. Today marked the first opportunity they'd had to train in the battle robes, and as heartened as he was by his team's loyalty, he was tempered by their ineptitude at basic Concealment Charms and distracted by the injuries he didn't have time to let heal.  
"Forget it!" he snapped, knowing that there was nothing like a good battle to get the pain-relieving endorphins flowing through his veins. "We'll go over the principles of Basic Stealth another time. For now... Montgomery -" 

"Halfway there, Black," replied Alyssa, stepping forward from the crowd of onlookers and assuming a place to Arcturus' right.

Nodding at her once in acknowledgement, Arcturus addressed the younger, unfamiliar students in their little audience.  
"For those of you that do not already know, Alyssa is a Music Mage," he informed them. "I refuse to insult your intelligence by assuming you do not know what this means. If by some chance you are unfamiliar with the phenomenon, then I suggest you seek me out after classes and I will lend you some books on the subject."

He paused, exchanging an enquiring look in Alyssa's direction, seeking – and receiving – her permission.  
"Alyssa is also a werewolf," he added, for benefit of the handful of first and second years who were not adequately acquainted with the population of Dark Creatures on the Durmstrang campus. "She has transferred with us for safety reasons, and also because she is my friend. With no disrespect to my deputy, she would be my chosen second were she a registered Squadron member. For months, now, she and I have been devising a way in which to capitalise on her... _talents_... does everybody know how a Music Mage can be useful in battle? Flloyd?"

The wiry second-year half-blood startled out of his reverie and looked to his immediate peers for encouragement. Loosely familiar with the nature of a Music Mage, he furrowed his brow in thought, clutching for an answer that did not sound like the guess that it was.  
"Music can affect your mood?" he said, asking a question rather than stating an answer.

"Correct in one, Flloyd; but next time try not to sound so unconvinced!" said Arcturus lightly. "When at their full strength and ability, a Music Mage can bewitch and affect an audience in as much the same way as an Imperius, or Dementor; inflicting a forced state of calm upon the weak minded and distracting them with terror alike. I trust you have all been working on your Occlumency shields over summer?"

Addressing the last of his questions towards his Squadron, who would be participating in any practical demonstration, Arcturus nodded at their muttered assurances. Rolling up his sleeves, he turned back to the observing students, to reassure them that Alyssa's attacks would be directed towards the duel's participants and that they would not be adversely effected, before motioning for his Squadron to take a defensive stance.  
"I will only tell you this once," he said authoritatively. "A Music Mage is incapable of physically defending themselves whilst calling upon their gift. I implore you to bear that in mind should you ever find yourself fighting in a battle alongside one. In addition, a strong Occlumency shield is the only defence against an attack from a Music Mage; as Montgomery directs her attacks towards you all, I want you to Occlude your minds _and_ attempt to Stun her – I will be protecting her, and yes, you may take me out in order to achieve your goal."

"That's 11 against two!" his designated second-in-command, Michael Kirsch, felt compelled to point out. Knowing Arcturus well, however, he was quick on the uptake. "What's the catch?"

Arcturus smirked.  
"Oh, there's no catch," he said slyly, throwing his hood over his head and disappearing, casting a wordless Disillusionment Charm over his wand and covering his tracks as he stealthily rounded the unsuspecting group.

"Famous last words," one of the Squad members mumbled, falling into formation behind his deputy and raising his own hood, becoming invisible.

By the time Alyssa began her mental attack on the minds of the Squadron, none of the participating men knew just where the Music Mage, or her protector, were standing. Tiring of his team throwing spells in random directions, Arcturus cleared his throat.  
"Listen! Observe!" Arcturus' voice was disembodied from the rest of him as he began to duel with the unseen enemy, spells suddenly coming his way. "Learn to track your enemy without visual cues! Stealth Charms can only conceal so much, listen for secondary disturbances within your environment: a rustle of wind, a flutter of leaves..."

He demonstrated by sending a curse flying towards a patch of earth where leaves were bustling against the wind, the dull thud of one of the Squadron members proving his point. In the wizard's defence, several spells were sent hurtling towards the spot where Arcturus had last spoken, but he had already moved on; thus proving another point.  
"Work to disorientate your enemy," said Arcturus, laughter in his voice as one of his Squad attacked a disturbance of earth, a decoy he had set up to set his opponents off his course. "Decoys. Distraction. You'll note your advantage as I stop to instruct you," he said, pausing to move away from the location a handful had pinned him to. "This is why Non-Verbal magic is crucial! Why even the simplest Disillusionment Charm is critical! Watch and learn!"

The observing students watched dutifully, their eyes straining against the faint light of the dawning sun as they scanned the terrain in anticipation of the next wand stroke, only half of the thirteen invisible battlers detectable. Meanwhile, up on the hill that overlooked the Quidditch Pitch, a growing audience of wizards watched the visiting students train with growing awe.  
"You say they are _fifth years_, Headmaster?" said Tonks in astonishment as a multi-colour of hexes and harmless curses streaked across the playing field below, seemingly coming from nowhere. "Even without those amazing robes, any number of them would pass the practical to become an Auror!"

"Says a lot about the Ministry's standards," scowled Sirius under his breath, sympathising with his nephew's likely view; immediately apologising for any inherent insult. "We really should be teaching the kids stuff like that here... they're going to graduate with the same dangers."

With a weary sigh, the accompanying headmaster informed Sirius of the Ministry's new impositions to the Defence curriculum, concluding that dear Dolores must still be getting her beauty sleep.  
"In that case, she'll never wake up," snorted Tonks, having been overly familiar with the Minister's former Under-Secretary through her job at the Ministry.

Concerned about members of his family drawing any more of the Ministry's attention, Sirius rubbed at his brow irritably.  
"He won't... I mean, they won't... will they get in trouble for continuing their... their... whatever they are doing?" he said, flustered.

"Arcturus has his Squadron training," explained Dumbledore, all of the wizards familiar with Durmstrang's co-curricular activities. He patted the younger wizard on the shoulder encouragingly. "You should be very proud of your nephew, Sirius. His entire team forfeited the season at their school in order to follow their leader to Hogwarts. The generosity of their families has ensured their immunity from the Ministry."

"What do you mean, Headmaster? No one is above the law!" stammered Remus, in shock by the implication that the headmaster would condone such activities.

"No, no, dear boy, of course not," said Dumbledore indulgently. "These fine students, however, answer to laws outside of the Ministry's jurisdiction. They are but guests in this country, after all."

"And the Hogwarts rules?" said Sirius, a brow raised. If the Ministry was enforcing a presence at Hogwarts, then the headmaster's ability to preside over its students was compromised.

"As much as I would welcome them to our fold, they are not Hogwarts students," said Dumbledore, a mad twinkling in his eye; all who knew him could tell he was looking forward to pointing out this little technicality to the Ministry's yet-to-awaken mole. "In order to best cater to their vastly different curriculum, the teachers that have accompanied the students have accepted our gracious invitation to host a satellite campus on our grounds. In accordance with the by-laws written last year to properly host our guests during the Triwizard Tournament, the displaced Durmstrang students will abide by Durmstrang rules, and follow their own curriculum. Naturally, they will dine with the other students and attend certain classes we already offer, but the option of being Sorted and wearing our uniform is at their discretion; as is then accepting accomodation in their adopted houses."

"So, what, Durmstrang has 'leant' them their own viking ship to live in or something?" said Sirius, recalling his godson's tales of the majestic ship the Triwizard contenders had sailed in on the previous fall. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

"Oh, no, suitable lodging has been established for them in one of the dissused attics," said Dumbledore vaguely. "As I may have implied earlier, the generosity of certain benefactors has enabled Hogwarts to make such allowances. Unless an undue number of Hogwarts students complain, there is very little Ms Umbridge can do to unjustify the presence of our esteemed guests... and of course, I think after this morning's little display, the students of Hogwarts will quickly find that they will have much to gain from such allies."

"Headmaster, if it is optional for the Durmstrang students to be Sorted and live with their adopted Houses, does that go two ways?" questioned Sirius, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Are the Durmstrang classes open to anyone? Will they be exempt from the Ministry's interference too if they participate in lessons not officially run or endorsed by the school?"

"But of course," said Dumbledore with a secretive grin. "Unfortunately the small number of Durmstrang Masters at our disposal rather limits the potential class sizes, but from what I can gather, a number of the students' co-curriculars are self-governed. So long as there remains a majority of Durmstrang students in any one group, and the Hogwarts _staff_ remain uninvolved, then such activities are accountable to Durmstrang rules."

Sirius smirked at the headmaster's meaning, not missing the meaningful glance the old man had sent in the direction of the training Durmstrang students. From what he knew of the Ministry's new involvement in Hogwarts affairs, and bearing in mind their refusal to acknowledge Voldemort's return, Sirius had no doubt that any sort of class or club that tried to prepare students for a war would be stopped. But, if students were to participate in such a club that was hosted by the visiting school... it was slippery enough for the former prankster to believe a Slytherin had come up with it.

He was about to say as such when the unpredictable headmaster stepped forward, erecting a powerful blue shield around them. In the valley below, several unseen figures still duelled, but if they were to look closely, they'd note that they were a few participants short. Out of instinct, Tonks drew her wand, the others quick to follow; all heads looking to the headmaster to explain his defensive tactics. They'd needn't have pressed him for answers, however, as their wands were suddenly wrenched from their hands, the narrow slithers of wood flying off into various directions. They were surrounded.

Narrowing his eyes, Albus Dumbledore stared down at his empty hand, his grasp of wandless magic enabling him to mount a defence without it. He lowered the shield that had clearly been pointed in the wrong direction and turned his back on the decoy of students below.  
"Well done," he said congenially, holding out his hand and nodding in approval as his wand was sent flying back towards him. The twinkle in his eye had dimmed at the onset of the hidden threat, but was now back with renewed force. "Good morning! Good morning! Please remove your hoods so I may look upon the fine individuals who have succeeded in surprising me!"

"Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore," said Arcturus with a bow, cancelling the Concealment Charm and revealing himself mere inches from the group of adult wizards. "Perhaps you should have accepted Master Karkaroff's invitation to attend the Durmstrang Squadron Trials. My team is champion of our division, and came runner up in the Open Trials."

"You only came _runner up_?" said Sirius in surprise, unable to fathom how any person of school age could possibly be any better than the students they had been watching from afar.

"We did not have our robes last year," Arcturus pointed out. "Nor was Alyssa permitted to compete. We would likely have won otherwise. My Squadron won the battle, but did not get the points to claim victory."

"You will have to tell me more about these Trials, some time," said Sirius with genuine interest. "But what are you doing out of the infirmary?"

" Battle waits for no man to heal," said Arcturus, a hint of steel in his voice. Taking time out to tend to a weakness was something he would never, ever do. "A healthy opponent may, physically, hold an advantage, but an injured man is easily underestimated. Battle is as much in the mind as it is in the fist."

"I'd maybe believe that if you didn't go to such lengths to _conceal_ your injuries!" snapped Sirius. "You could be doing permanent damage!"  
He took a step towards his resilient nephew, halting only when he noticed the other students' wands still on him; Arcturus accompanied in his stealthy disarming of the adults by Alyssa and two unnamed Durmstrang students.

"Laarson, give the man back his wand," said Arcturus to the Squad member closes to Sirius, then nodding to the others to do the same. "I know my limits, Uncle. If you have any respect for me at all, you will refrain from undermining me in front of my Squadron."

Sirius' mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. He could see how his behaviour could be construed as being condescending and humiliating in front of his nephew's peers, but surely the teen knew that his actions were borne of his concern. Telling the boy as much, he was encouraged by the boy's quickness to forgive.  
"I will return to the infirmary momentarily, but I refuse to miss any classes," he said, willing to compromise.

"Good, because Harry's waiting to have breakfast with us there," said Sirius, relieved. "He'll want to hear all about your morning exploits."

"Very well, I will debrief my Squadron and accompany you," he said, indicating that the adults should wait where they were whilst he returned to the awaiting students at the foot of the hill. Before he left, he addressed the headmaster. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I would like to hold some trials, invite some Hogwarts students to form a number of opposing Squadrons. My men will lapse if not given the opportunity to compete. I have already devised a roster to ensure a Durmstrang majority during training sessions... my deputy caught me up on all that I missed during last night's Feast."

"You are aware of the obstacles Professor Umbridge will erect at every turn?" said Dumbledore, seeking clarification.

"I look forward to the challenge," said Arcturus, a malevolent glint in his eyes that rivaled Dumbledore's own twinkle.

"Now, Mr Black, I will need for you to remove your Glamourie," said Madame Pomfrey ten minutes later, her wand poised at the boy, who had returned and was now sitting pensively on the edge of his bed.

"No," said Arcturus warily, his eyes looking over the woman's shoulder and settling on his uncle, a mild look of betrayal on his face. "That wasn't part of the deal, Sirius."

Side-stepping in front of Arcturus' view of his uncle, Madame Pomfrey put on her best no-nonsense stance.  
"I cannot begin to heal you without a proper diagnosis. From what I saw last night you are in serious need of medical attention-"

"You don't need to see my injuries in order to assess them," said Arcturus petulantly. "I am quite capable of giving you a detailed description-"

"Leaving what out, precisely?" cut in Pomfrey, not buying into the boy's veiled cooperation for a minute. "If you continue to hide your wounds, then I have no choice to assume that you are hiding something. I will not treat you until I am satisfied that all your symptoms have been identified – I have already been in enough trouble this morning for dosing you with a Sleeping Draught when there were remnants of a Blood Replenishing Potion in your system. Just what were you taking a Blood Replenishing Potion for, anyway?"

Arcturus carefully masked his look of surprise, impressed that someone had known their potions well enough to know what brew he had taken that had counter-acted with the draught the woman had given him after he'd let his guard fall.  
"Someone knows their potions," he observed, his eye twitching as he proceeded to avoid the woman's pertinent question.

"Answer the question, Arcturus," said Sirius tiredly, coming around from behind the nurse and taking a precarious seat beside his nephew. He refrained from reaching out and touching the boy's shoulder, however. Struck by something, he blanched slightly and reeled back. "If... if you want things to remain between yourself and the nurse, I can clear the ward."

Following the motion of his uncle's arm as it swept around to include their Auror cousin, the distantly hovering Harry and a number of Arcturus' Durmstrang brothers, the reluctant teen sighed. Sensing that her patience was about to relent, the experienced school nurse decided to urge the boy along.  
"If you are concerned about being pitied, I can assure you otherwise," said the Medi-witch in a steely voice. "I may only be a school nurse, but I did treat veterans during the war, when this school became a refuge for the overflow of patients from St Mungo's. There is not a lot I have not seen... and no matter what you look like under that Glamourie, I will not take it at face value; you have already proven yourself capable of functioning with whatever afflictions you may have."

"Oh all right, already," snapped Arcturus, tiring of all the attention. "If giving you what you want will allow me to have breakfast any sooner I will do it... but I am telling you woman, that no matter what you find, I will not be missing any of my classes, do you hear me?"

Madame Pomfrey's lips twitched, as though she was about to disagree with the young boy's conditions. One look at Sirius – who, as the teen's guardian, had the final say regarding any hospital stay – and she had no choice but to agree to the terms.  
"Very well," she said tersely, taking a step back and readying her wand for the number of diagnostic spells she'd have to cast. "Remove your Glamourie."

Closing his eyes in concentration, Arcturus slumped slightly as he focused on lowering the shields he'd become so accustomed to wearing. The sharp intake of breath by all those around him told him when he had succeeded.  
"It looks worse than it is," he said nonchalantly, though he knew no one would believe him.

"Sweet Merlin, kid, how numb must that ointment make you?" gaped Sirius, aghast at the amount of swelling and discolouration that marred every visible part of his nephew's skin. He leaned in close, as though to offer a comforting touch, but then recoiling at the last minute for fear of hurting the boy. His voice barely above a whisper, he hovered instead by the teen's ear. "How much of this was from the bookstore explosion, and how much of it... otherwise?"

Arcturus shrugged, not flinching at all at the pain the movement had to be causing him.  
"Oh... just the fresh bruises," he said flippantly. "I really don't keep track anymore."

The nurse, meanwhile, was casting spell after spell after spell, her frown deepening with what each diagnostic charm revealed. Completing her analysis, she forced herself to remain apathetic in front of the proud teenager and kept her tone strictly professional.

"All right, Mr Black, what measures have you taken to address the issues at hand? I already note that a number of the rib fractures have been partially healed," said Poppy, reminding herself that the individual she was dealing with regarded himself as a soldier from the frontlines, rather than a helpless student with no aptitude for pain.

Arcturus rattled off a list of potions, salves and other treatments that would make any student Healer sit down and take notes. Realising that the boy was telling the truth, the night before, when he'd declared that there was very little the nurse could do for him that he couldn't already do for himself, Madame Pomfrey could not deny that she was impressed. Refraining from admitting her redundancy just yet, she sought to uncover where the mere teenager had gained such knowledge from.  
"That's an impressive start," she acknowledged. "Where, may I ask, did you acquire the skills to self-medicate like that?"

"Oh, you know, here and there," said Arcturus casually, sending a dangerous look in Alyssa's direction, the girl cut off from boasting about something. Noting that his answer would not be enough, he regarded the adults with a suffering look. "Triage was one of my electives at Durmstrang."

"No school-level co-curricular could cover the Healing Arts with such detail," said Pomfrey sceptically.

"I read a lot," said Arcturus, his tone suggesting that he was not going to offer any more explanation.

The adults all exchanged a look, and Arcturus knew they did not believe him... but he was not going to tell them of the tutelage Esmerelda had given him; of how the Token and the connection they'd shared enabled him to endure his Great-Aunt's punishments without feeling the pain. Now, without his Token, he could feel the every bruise and gash... but only if he opened his mind to it. He'd overdone it, he knew, when he'd turned up at the school before the healing Potions he'd administered could take effect. He still could not believe that he had passed out like he did... but his body evidently needed the rest because, despite appearances, he was up and functioning again.

Just.

END CHAPTER

Next Chapter: 'Missions and a Mishap' due next Friday. Pinkie promise!


	16. Missions and a Mishap

**Disclaimer: **Anything that is recognisable is borrowed from _Order of the Phoenix_. The world of Harry Potter does, of course, belong to Jo, but the OC is mine.

**Updated: **Friday 11th January 2008

**A/N: **I can't believe I forewent skiving off work and staking out the red carpet at the London Premiere of '_Sweeney Todd_' in favour of actually staying in the office and _working_! Bangs head against desk repeatedly, Dobby-style Ah well, at least it's Friday. That's something...

**Chapter 16: Missions and a Mishap**

At Arcturus' insistence, as their Squadron leader, the 11 strapping Durmstrang fifth years who had followed Arcturus to Hogwarts all agreed to be Sorted and wear their livery of their adopted Houses when not attending classes in the Durmstrang curriculum. Due to both the nature of the syllabus and small number of teachers who had accompanied them across the Channel, a majority of core subjects were furnished by their host school, so the displaced students had many opportunities to associate with their new classmates and extended alumni. 

This fine September afternoon in question found Arcturus Black deep in thought. The Hogwarts governors had allowed the Squadron to keep training, but they were not permitted to engage in any competition with the Hogwarts students, no matter what the majority during training sessions. The squad was getting restless, not to mention complacent, from sparring against each other, and as Squadron leader it was Arcturus' responsibility to keep the group on their toes. Lately, he'd had the team devising hypothetical scenarios to drive the Hogwarts Defence professor out of the school. The woman was up to no good, and Arcturus was damned if he wasn't going to give the rumoured Curse on the position a hand, turning over this particular Defence teacher in record time.

As always, when occupied by such thoughts, Arcturus turned to his father's journal for guidance. He'd been decidedly deceptive when he'd told Sirius that his father's letters to the man were the only thing he had of his father's. Whilst it remained true that the increasingly desperate missives were the only thing that documented his father's feelings for his mother, Regulus Black had kept a rather scrupulous record of his _extra-curricular_ activties.

It was widely known that the late Regulus Black had taken the Dark Mark and then later attempted to defect, but very few people realised just how early in his servitude the young Black spare had become disenchanted by the decision. Truth be told, he had been plotting against his new 'Master' pretty much since the beginning, and it was sheer foolishness and, perhaps, a misguided belief that his sacrifice would ensure safety for his son that ultimately ended his life. He'd died, as Kreacher had confided in Arcturus some years previously, in an underground lake; delirious on some sort of potion and dragged under the water's surface by a swarm of Inferi.

Closing his eyes against the memory Kreacher had shown him, Arcturus concentrated on the book in his hands. He'd found it in what had used to be his uncle's childhood bedroom, wedged behind the fireplace with a note from his father. Regulus had apparently forseen his death and left the journal for his brother to find, hopeful that his estranged sibling had opened but one of his letters and come back to Grimmauld Place to lay claim to Arcturus. 

Regulus could not have counted on his mother keeping the boy's existence such a secret, however, let alone Sirius going to Azkaban; or that it would be his own son who would assume the responsibility of the task he died trying to complete. Arcturus had found the journal shortly after his grandmother's death, its covers bound with a Blood Spell and opening quite by accident when the inquisitive boy had drawn blood from a simple paper cut. Unable to read very well at that age, he had admired the detail in the sketches throughout the small book and taken it to the trusted portrait of his great-grandfather several times removed in the hope that the image would read it to him. Had it been any other book, one found in a room he was actually permitted to rifle through, he might have taken the tome to his namesake or, until he had discovered the depths of her treachery, his great-aunt, but some things, as Pater Phin had taught him since the cradle, just could not be trusted to the living.

The journal, as Arcturus came to realise as he grew, documented all his father had come to know about six items that the Dark Lord held sacred. Regulus Black had died before learning the significance, but following in his father's stead, Arcturus was beginning to think he had an idea. Ironically, it had been meeting Harry Potter that inspired him to continue his particular path of research. If there was one thing the Black family knew well, it was Blood Magic, and Harry Potter was said to have been saved from the Avada Kedavara curse by one of the most obscure protection rituals. It had impressed Arcturus beyond words that a simple Muggleborn witch had had the resourcefulness and power to implement such magic, and he had been quick to learn all he could about the particular spell Lily Potter was said to have used.

At first, it had confused Arcturus as to why such magic was believed to be what saved the boy, because whilst capable of rebounding a heinous curse against its caster, there was nothing to explain why the errant Avada Kedavara had not completely killed Voldemort. Conferring this anomaly with his father's journal, a possibility began to form in his mind.

Horcruxes.

Durmstrang routinely covered the soul-splitting Dark magic with its seventh year students, in the same block of study with the likes of Dementors and Thestrals. Viktor had shown Arcturus his essay on the Dementor's Kiss, citing the creation of a Horcrux as a method to safeguard against a Dementor's attack, the term residing in the back of Arcturus' mind ever since. When, then, the nature of Voldemort's survival that fateful Halloween had raised the question of Horcruxes being used, the astute Black heir knew, without any further investigation, that the items documented in his father's journal _had_ to be Horcruxes.

But it was in this realisation that Arcturus faced his biggest dilemma. Whilst both his old school's library and his family's own were almost unrivaled in their collections, very little documentation existed on Horcruxes. What Arcturus had been able to find, only provided scant details on how to _create_ a Horcrux... but of course that could only be expected; no one who knew enough about Horcruxes to write about them was hardly of a mind to provide readers with a method to destroy one, and from the looks of his father's records, the Dark Lord had six, maybe more.

Well... perhaps not six. Arcturus recognised the book his father described as Riddle's childhood journal; spending several weeks under the same roof as the Weasleys had him well informed of Ginny's unfortunate encounter with Riddle's memory. That was one down, and there were a further three that he now suspected to have in 'friendly' possession; four, if he counted the cup that was now back in the Ministry's hands since being recovered from the raid at Malfoy manor, before it could be deposited into the vault of the Malfoy matriarch's sister, Bellatrix. Presently, two of the Horcruxes were hidden within easy reach. The first, the locket his father had managed to steal before his death, was hidden at the bottom of his grandfather's Pensieve, under a pool of memories only he could remove. The other, Wormtail's silver hand, was locked within the false floor of his trunk. Whilst the conjured appendage had not been amongst his father's list, Arcturus had cause to believe that Voldemort had made a Horcrux of the hand; his suspicions based on how similarly the metal reeked of Darkness; the same evil that had resonated from the Slytherin heirloom Walburga Black had kept chained around her grandson's neck until the industrious four year old had worked out how to remove it and hidden it with the help of the family House Elf.

The third Horcrux, a heirloom ring his former headmaster and mentor had kept hidden at Durmstrang under Voldemort's orders, was now on the defected wizard's person, Igor having no intention of parting with his one bargaining chip. Of course, Karkaroff probably didn't know that he had a piece of Voldemort's soul at his disposal, and Arcturus had no doubt that if the man did know, he was probably searching for a way to destroy it, just like he – and his father before him – was trying to do. In the absence of any real leads on how to destroy the artefacts he had collected, Arcturus had decided that it would be considerably more productive to concentrate, in the meantime, on getting all of the horrid things out of circulation, the cup of Helga Hufflepuff next on his list.

"You're up to something," said Harry, slipping into the long, narrow room that served as the common room for the Durmstrang students. Situated on the topmost floor of the eastern wing, the Durmstrang quarters ran across the entire level, the sloping ceilings and narrow rooms making for comfortable, but cosy accomodation. Picture book windows rose up from where the ceiling met the wall, the evenly placed alcoves providing light and places for students to sit, along the deep, cushioned sills. On the exterior side of the castle, the rooms opened out onto a wide turret balcony, ramparts framing the view wandering students were given of the surrounding Highlands.

"I didn't grant you access to these rooms so that you might come and pass judgement on my activities, Harry," said Arcturus, not looking up from his father's journal. If the boy made any moves to try and see what he was reading, he would close the book, but not before. He glanced around the deserted room, the rhythmic pounding of feet on stone in the distance assuring him that his Durmstrang brothers were still outside, running laps of the turrets that connected all the wings of the school.

"I thought we were '_brothers_'," drawled Harry, drawing attention to the manner in which the older boy had presented Harry to his classmates, when ordering them to regard the Gryffindor golden boy as his kin.

Arcturus closed the book in his hands and tucked it away into an inside pocket of his robes. Rising from his chair, he stalked over to the Boy-Who-Lived, towering over him. Glaring at the younger boy for a moment, Arcturus considered what to tell the boy. A quick flick of his wand ensuring their protection against eavesdropping ears, Arcturus made his choice, settling for honesty.  
"My comrades and I are planning a little trip tonight," said Arcturus, watching Harry's expression carefully. "When all goes well, we will be adjourning to the Club to celebrate. You're quite welcome to join us there."

"Hogwarts students can't leave the grounds, except for Hogsmeade weekends, remember?" Harry reminded the older boy.

Durmstrang students, as a rule, had been free to partake in work internships and social events outside of school hours, providing they returned to their dormitories in time for the curfew. The rule still applied in their host school, the increasingly demanding High Inquisitor mollified by the field of work many of the older exchange students were involved in. In fact, Dolores Umbridge had proven surprisingly supportive of the progressive school's initiative, applauding the fact that young people were able to get a taste of the working life in the years before graduation. Of course, the notoriously obtuse woman still believed Arcturus to be a humble broom boy for the Bulgarian team to kick around, and was equally inclined to view his role amongst his classmates as 'childhood role playing'. The thought then, of the woman being perceptive enough to notice when a student had snuck out of the school, was almost laughable.

"Don't worry, I have arranged for my cousin to be your stand in. He owes me," said Arcturus, growling at the mere mention of his cousin. Gunther had shown up at the beginning of the second week of classes, transferred at his grandparents' insistance once they'd realised that he'd left Durmstrang. The little toe rag had quickly become his shadow... and target. Quick to dissolve the Blood Ritual that called him to the boy's assistance whenever the kid was in dire need of it, Arcturus had wanted very little to do with the spoilt little second year. He'd never appreciated the Durmstrang Staff's choice, and had since become fixated on Harry, nominating his uncle's godson as a far more worthy recipient of his guidance.

"You've brewed Polyjuice?" marvelled Harry, surprised. "But that takes a month..."

"I'm not going to ask how you know that; Snape can't have covered it in Potions yet," said Arcturus with a searching look, hiding the fact that he was mildly impressed. "But yes, Gunther will be given a twelve hour supply of Polyjuice... and rest assured I have taken measures to ensure he does not miss a dose."

Seeing the smug look that came over the bespectacled boy's face, Arcturus found his interest piqued.  
"When did Granger brew the potion?" he enquired, smirking in satisfaction when Harry's reaction confirmed his suspicions accurate.

"Second year," said Harry proudly. "Me 'n Ron infiltrated the Snake pit and interrogated Malfoy, disguised as his two buffoons."

Arcturus' face lit up at the thought of his other cousin – this one on the paternal side – being duped. He'd met the Malfoy heir on several occasions when they were both small children, his grandmother doting on her favourite niece and great-nephew; having them over frequently for tea before she had taken ill. Had there remained no Blacks of the _direct line_ – meaning his grandfather's stock – to take him in after the old wench died, he would have become another of Narcissa's precious princes. Absently, he wondered when the teenager would be returning to the school, the blonde-haired boy seemingly falling off the face of the planet after news of Lucius' likely death broke.  
"Ah, I see my influence is starting to bear fruit," he said cryptically. At Harry's dumbfounded look, he imitated the younger boy's earlier words and smirked. "Really, Harry... '_infiltrated_'? That's not a very Gryffindor-ish word for you to use..."

"Ah, but you're forgetting, Arcturus, that you are technically a Gryffindor too," said Harry teasingly, taking the opportunity to remind the teen of the Sorting Hat's choice.

Arcturus' face turned sour. Whilst he had been the one to suggest to his Durmstrang classmates that they wear the Hogwarts uniform of their adopted Houses whenever attending a class hosted by their exchange school, the proud Black had been dismayed at the Sorting Hat's choice. Though a part of him could see the merit in not sharing the same colours as his two least favourite cousins, Snape and Malfoy, he could not help but think that he had dishonoured his father's memory, by failing to get into Slytherin. His uncle, of course, had been pleasantly surprised at the turn of events, feeling decidedly victorious as it emerged that his nephew was not all that different from him, after all. Harry, meanwhile, had been in awe of the fact that someone with such cunning could find himself in Gryffindor, and he'd picked up straight away that the Sorting Hat had strongly leant towards Slytherin.

The revelation that the Hat had been inclined to place _Harry_ in Slytherin, if not for the raven-haired boy's insistence to go anywhere but, made Arcturus see his psuedo brother in a whole new light. In fact, if Arcturus were really honest with himself, the Hat may well have put him in his father's House, if not for his current ill-will towards several of its members and the small, inexplicable part of him that wanted to stick closely to the boy who had so much to learn from him.

"Where's Alyssa?" said Harry suddenly, drawing Arcturus from his thoughts. "Still sleeping off last night, I take it?"

"If you must persist answering your own questions, then do it somewhere else; I'd like to get back to my reading," said Arcturus, no malice in his tone. He turned back and stalked towards his chair, gesturing sightlessly that Harry make himself comfortable on one of the nearby couches. Like a gentleman, he remained standing until Harry accepted the offered seat. "What can I do for you?"

When the bespectacled teenager did not answer, or make a move to sit down, Arcturus frowned, watching the boy smooth down his hair in a gesture that belied his nervousness. His eagle-like gaze not missing the angry red marks on the back of the boy's palm, Arcturus closed the distance between them and snatched Harry's wrist before the teen had the chance to stuff his hand back in the pocket of his robes.

"What is this?" he demanded, growling softly as he recognised the effects of a Blood Quill. He ran a finger over the raised skin, eyes narrowing at the words he found etched in the flesh. "'_I must not tell lies_', Harry? Admirable advice, if I must say so, but you don't look the sort to volutarily perscribe yourself to mutilation. Is this what you wanted to see me about?"

Harry paused, realising with sickening awe that he had indeed visited the young man he was quickly regarding as an older brother figure for purposes of telling him about his detention with Umbridge; it had been an almost instinctual reaction. At the same time knowing, however, that Arcturus Black would tolerate such treatment from no teacher, he couldn't help but feel ashamed; regretting his trek up to the Durmstrang commons as soon as Arcturus had spotted the markings on his hand.

So caught up was Harry in inwardly condemning himself, that he did not catch the look that came over Arcturus' face.  
"Potter, I am awaiting your explanation," he said tersely, not letting go of the boy's wrist. Drawing his wand, he tapped the tip against Harry's knuckles in thought. "Or should I hazard a guess? Snape, or Umbridge? Or both, with the assistance of that mangy Filch... my, my, what a sick little menage a trois that would be."

Both teens shuddered at the imagery, Harry regardng his summer roommate with an odd look. Peering closer at the quill strokes that had imitated themselves on the back of Harry's hand, Arcturus ran a thumb over the mark gently and frowned.  
"This phrase has been layered on to your skin several times – you wrote this voluntarily more than once?" he said, staring at Harry for answers. Sightlessly summoning a small stone bowl that contained a potion he'd prepared for Alyssa to dress her scratches in when she awoke, the girl having spent most of the day recovering from the previous night's full moon, he pocketed his wand. "Or can we pin the bastard who did this with use of an Unforgivable as well? Were you under Imperius?"

Tearing his eyes away from the taller boy's penetrating gaze, Harry hung his head in shame.  
"No, but I may as well have been," he grumbled. "I knew what she was having me do wasn't normal, but it's not easy to disobey orders during a detention; least of all when it's with a '_teacher'_ that has the power to get all of the decent staff fired!"

Arcturus looked thoughtful for a moment, but then his expression lightened. The bowl now in his wand hand, he kept his grip on Harry's wrist, pushing him into the nearest chair. Setting the bowl down on the small lamp table beside them, he dunked the boy's injured hand into the bowl.

"Let that soak," he warned, intervening before Harry could remove his hand from the bowl. "It will soothe the irritated skin and fight against infection."

At Harry's surprised look, Arcturus rolled his eyes.  
"I'd brewed it this morning for Alyssa, for when she awoke, but she didn't look too bad when she came in; she'll make do with some salve," he said. Concluding, then, that Harry had evidently chosen to come to him with news of what Umbridge had inflicted upon him, he looked at the boy curiously. "You haven't told Sirius about this, have you?"

Harry brushed his good hand over the pocket in his robes he had carried a small mirror in ever since his godfather had given it to him, the morning he had gotten on the train at King's Cross. It was no secret, then, to Arcturus that he spoke almost daily with Sirius, and he was surprised when the teen had detected his keeping Umbridge's activities from the protective Animagus. Seeing the surprise on Harry's face, Arcturus rolled his eyes.  
"Oh come on, if Sirius was aware of this, Umbridge would be in some specimen jar in Snape's quarters by now," said Arcturus with a smirk, sharing with his psuedo-brother the image of Sirius transfiguring the vile woman into a slimy reptile and bottling its corpse for Snape come Christmas time.

They shared a good-natured laugh.

Reflecting on what the upcoming night's events would do to the infernal wench that had inflicted a Blood Quill upon an innocent student, Arcturus looked at his uncle's godson conspiringly, searching for a way to acknowledge the trust Harry had just shown in him. He settled for an invitation.  
"I think you should come with us tonight. You could wear your father's Invisibility Cloak... yes, yes... it's not ideal, but it will do for the task at hand..."

"What are you talking about, why would I need my Invisibility Cloak at the Club?" said Harry, frowning. "You've already invited me too, by the way... oh, hang on, do you mean I should come with you to wherever you're going _before_ you go to the Club?"

"Yes," said Arcturus firmly, liking the idea more and more. "You are not quite ready for combat, no, that's a long way off, but this mission is sufficient enough that you may accompany us and safely observe. It might even do you good to see how the Squadron operates... when Umbridge is gone, you'll be free to head up an opposing Hogwarts side."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Harry did a double take.  
"Wait, just where _are_ you planning to go before the Club?"

Gunther von Astor was in a world of trouble. Dressed in the over-sized school robes of one Harry Potter, the clothes having fit until the Polyjuice Potion had worn off, the terrified second year looked around the Headmaster's office with muted awe. Besides the scores of portraits glaring at him, he had no less than all of the Hogwarts heads surrounding him, together with the forbidding Durmstrang Master that might well have been separated from the resident Potions professor at birth. But it wasn't the disapproving gazes of the teachers that unnerved him... no, it was the sound thrashing Arcturus would surely give him once the older boy realised that he couldn't even succeed at the simplest assignment.

The slumping of his shoulders was readily construed as shame by the adults in the room, but in reality Gunther was disappointed in himself for letting his cousin down. He may have been raised to look down his nose at the disowned grandson of his great-uncle, but he couldn't help but admire the teen. Arcturus Black had been quick to point out his every weakness, the brutal honesty a refreshing change from the years of coddling he had experienced at the hands of his parents and, later, extended family.

Heirs, as he had so been named by his father's uncle, did not cower, or weep, or endanger the family stronghold as he so frequently did. They were noble, and fair, and looked out for the interests of their kin; qualities he had been quick to recognise in Arcturus the year previously, however abrasive and unsentimental in their delivery. It was Arcturus, he had vehemently declared to his great-uncle that first Christmas away from school, who had the embodiments of an heir; the boy still having looked out for him that first year despite the fact he had been outcast from the family since birth.

"Where did they go?" the Slytherin Head of House, Snape, thundered at him, ignoring the warning looks he then got from the other members of the Hogwarts alumni.

"I don't know," said Gunther, remembering at least to avoid eye contact. The Prince family, whose blood Arcturus and Snape shared, had, as Arcturus had told him, a certain aptitude towards the Mind Arts. It wasn't entirely a lie, either, for Gunther had been kept largely in the dark about why he was being charged with the duty of impersonating Harry Potter.

Determined to serve his cousin well, Gunther silently vowed to keep what little he knew to himself. Knowing his cousin, it was likely that the older boy had deliberately fed him useless information, as a way to test him. If he were to tell the waiting teachers what he knew, no matter how useless the information was, the fact would remain that he _broke_... and desperate for Arcturus' approval, he was not about to do that. It was bad enough that he'd forgotten the name of Harry's godfather, unwittingly letting the cat out of the bag when the man had called him on the mirror its owner had left with him, to ensure the deception. It would not have done for Sirius Black to have mirror-called his godson in the midst of whatever it was the boy was leaving the school to do, after all. The man had been too wrapped up in his own rambling to detect any difference with the imposter on the other end of the line at first, but was capable of identifying the reason for the boy's blank look before the teen had a chance to cover for it. The seasoned prankster had then stealthily skewed the course of the conversation, effortlessly catching the fake Harry out in a lie, before calmly ending the conversation as though nothing were amiss and Flooing directly to the school to alert the staff of his concerns. Now, as he sat in the Headmaster's office, having been Stunned and dragged there by an expedient group of teachers, Gunther was caught out once and for all when Potter's best friend had arrived with something called the Marauder's Map, which revealed him for who he truly was; the deception completely uncovered when the Polyjuice wore off moments later. 

"You don't know, or you just don't want to tell us?" sneered the least-favourite Durmstrang Master. Many of the transfer students had been dismayed to discover that the man was in fact a half-blood, and thus making the move with them. For the briefest time, the mixed-blood students had thought that perhaps the revelation of their shared heritage would humanise the tyrannical teacher, but if anything it only increased his unpleasantness.

Mustering all of his courage, Gunther glared defiantly at his Durmstrang Master, pursing his lips together in a physical refusal to respond.  
"I am loyal to my blood," he said lowly, reminding his schoolmaster of one of Durmstrang's most revered codes. Whether pureblooded, Muggleborn or half-blood, loyalty to kin – and later to squadron - was a value that Durmstrang enforced from the very first day. As such, Gunther had been on the receiving end of much scorn and ridicule for his great-uncle's choice to strip Arcturus of his birthright; teachers and peers alike had ridiculed him for accepting the title in his cousin's stead. It had provided the catalyst that saw him become his cousin's fierce supporter in family discussions, years of his great-uncle's 'Arcturus-bashing' quickly proving untrue. The realisation, too, that familial bonds were – according to the Durmstrang Code – the most sacred and irreplacable, helped him to realise just how much his great-uncle had let Arcturus down; not to mention how easily the same could be pulled out from under him, if he did not promote better values.

Seizing his opportunity, Severus Snape swept forward and glared at the boy.  
"How touching," he sneered. "Loyal to a boy who regards you with no less enthusiasm than dirt under his fingernails. I cannot discern who is the greater fool."

"Severus!" Headmaster Dumbledore had finally had enough, stepping in with a short, warning tone.

The lanky-haired Potions professor was half-way through a poisonous diatribe, ranting and raving about Potter's flagrant disregard for the rules, when he stopped mid-sentence and began rubbing his left forearm in alarm. The look the headmaster and teacher then exchanged was not lost to the observing second-year, and his suspicions were confirmed when the Slytherin housemaster left without ceremony.

"You'd better hope Arcturus doesn't find out about that!" warned Gunther in a low voice. "Cousin or no, Arcturus'll have his guts for garters-"

"I assure you, Mr von Astor, that young Mr Black is well aware of Professor Snape's present occupation," said Albus Dumbledore in an expressionless tone. Anyone who knew him, however, would gracefully back away at the pointed lack of a twinkle in his eye. "May we return now, to the matter at hand?"

"Potter isn't of age, boy, do you know what that amounts to?" cut in the Durmstrang Master, Rolin Gustav. The man was hissing so much, that spittle dotted the stubble on his chin. He leaned over the boy, threateningly. "Kidnapping! That's what it amounts to, and you'll be up for aiding and abetting if you don't start cooperating!"

"Master Gustav!" said Dumbledore, in a dangerously low voice that no stranger could possibly misunderstand. "I will not have you threatening students in my presence!"

While anyone not familiar with the abrasive manner of Master Gustav could take the man's behaviour as violent and harsh, those that had studied under him for a year or more were demonstrably desensitised by the hollow threats and predictability. Unaffected by the man's verbal attack, therefore, Gunther had to hide his smirk; the situation reminding him, insanely, of the Good Auror / Bad Auror sketch on his favourite WWN broadcast. Any moment, he expected the circle of spectating portraits to break out in song, or the Gryffindor Head of House to head up a tap-dancing chorus line. He sniggered at the thought and was immediately cut down by the woman's glare, whose office he had come to see quite a lot of in his time as a member of her house.

Quite unsurprisingly, the Durmstrang students had Sorted quite evenly between Slytherin, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Arcturus' reach as Squadron leader did not carry beyond the eleven fifth years in his squad, but all of the Durmstrang transfers had decided to be Sorted nevertheless. While the Durmstrang commons were established to accommodate them all, many of the younger exchange students – Gunther included – chose to live with their adopted houses, equally intimidated by their Durmstrang brothers and yearning to fit in with the majority.

Of course, Gunther had only taken up residence in Gryffindor Tower because it would keep him out from under Arcturus' feet. He could not help idolising the boy and watching him intently anymore than he enjoyed the tongue lashings he got whenever the older teen caught him doing it. The best thing for Gunther to do was remove himself from his cousin's proximity, try and concentrate on his studies and maybe even prove his worth by gathering intel on the Gryffindor younger years. And indeed it had been his familiarity with the Gryffindor quarters and peerage within the group of students that obsessed about Potter's every move that had earnt the slight boy the favour when a stand in for the Boy-Who-Lived was sought.

"Where they are and what they are doing is none of your concern," said Gunther finally, with a pointed look at Dumbledore. "They will return in due course."

Tossing his head back a little too arrogantly for some teacher's likings, Gunther caught, out of the corner of his eye, a face emerging in the fireplace. Seeing it before anyone else, Albus Dumbledore was quick to dismiss everyone, and as Gunther was quietly ushered out of the office by both his adopted Head of House and Durmstrang Master, he could have sworn he heard the word '_Ministry_' being bantered about.

"To Hufflepuff!" the triumphant Squadron, in addition to Harry, had toasted drunkenly as they sat around the table reserved for the Bulgarin Quidditch team. Whilst several of the squad had affiliations with the Club, Arcturus had been granted leave, on this particularly evening, to invite whomever he pleased to the exclusive establishment.

The crowd tonight, Harry noted, was decidedly more demure than the loud music loving young set he had experienced on his last visit to the venue; the tables tonight filled with young couples and distinguished wizards alike, all seemingly looking towards the stage and waiting for something to happen. The table of rambunctuous Durmstrang students, therefore, seemed precariously out of place, and would have earned a number of disproving looks if not for the Privacy Charms Arcturus had been careful to cast. Hufflepuff's cup lay wrapped in Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which was in turn placed in a shrunken dragon hide bag and tucked into Arcturus' robes. It had been infariously easy to snatch it out of the Ministry's holding room, right out from under the noses of the Seizure of Magical Artefacts Department, and Arcturus could once again sleep easily with the knowledge that one of Voldemort's Horcruxes was no longer so readily accessible.

"So, you going to tell me what's so special about Hufflepuff's cup?" asked Harry, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Arcturus looked at him shrewdly, not trusting the integrity of the temporary Privacy Charms around them to keep the secret safe.

"Later," he intoned, his hand ghosting over the pocket in his robes, subconsciously making sure their prize of the evening was still there.

Harry nodded reluctantly, not having missed Arcturus' wary expression.

"All right, then. Can you at least tell me again what's so special about tonight?" said Harry, nodding towards the stage where all the patrons now seemed to be watching with nervous anticipation.

"Alyssa's performing solo," said Arcturus proudly, his chin raised. "It's been over half a century since the Club last had a fully developed Music Mage perform for them."

Harry blinked a few times in confusion, before remembering all the older boy had told him about Alyssa's gift. The squad had steadily been integrating Alyssa's Mage abilities into their training, treating the quiet werewolf as their leader's unofficial second. Unlike ordinary witches or wizards, Mages could come into their full powers at any time, and Alyssa's becoming had been one of the earliest in recorded history. The Club had offered the girl membership immediately, having already retained her services on a lesser scale for orchestral pieces and general mood magics, but this evening marked the first opportunity since her change for the establishment to showcase her talent.

No one said much about Alyssa's becoming... from Harry's approximation it had occurred sometime over the summer, most likely just before Arcturus had brought her to Grimmauld Place. He had read, in the weeks since learning of the strange girl's ability, that a Mage coming into their own at such a young age was often perpetuated by a traumatic event. Arcturus had mentioned in passing that Alyssa alternated her time between the Coven of Esmerelda Bane and the makeshift Pack on Durmstrang grounds, and that she had been forced to flee from the latter at short notice. He'd flat out refused to say anything more on the subject, leaving Harry to conclude that the removal of the older boy's Token, and Karkaroff's disappearance had had far reaching consequences on the young werewolf girl.

"I can't believe this! Not again!"

Sirius Black paced the small, circular office, hands running through his hair in growing agitation. Twice in a month, Arcturus had taken off with Harry, not telling anyone where they were going. It wasn't that he didn't trust the older boy to bring Harry home in one piece, but rather he had flaunted not only Hogwarts' rules, but all the precautions set in place to ensure the safety of the Boy-Who-Lived. The first time, he had been able to excuse his nephew for simply not realising Harry's importance, but now it was just inexcusable. Arcturus had been made fully aware of Harry's status, and for the teen to consciously attempt to cover their tracks by having someone pose as his godson only exemplified that both boys knew that what they were doing was wrong. A few harmless pranks and covert trips to Hogsmeade Sirius could live with – he and James had done a lot worse – but this was crossing the line.

"Albus, have you accounted for what other Durmstrang students are missing?" asked Remus levelly, placing a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder and guiding him towards a chair, which the man gratefully sank into.

"Arcturus' entire Squadron, with the addition of Alyssa Montgomery," said Albus wearily. "A small group of other students have also gone to London, but they left advance notice with the Durmstrang Muggle Studies teacher that they were going to the theatre for a field assignment; it's unlikely they are involved."

Sirius growled lowly.  
"Albus, I don't know how things work at Durmstrang, but we gotta put a reign on these kids! They can't just go gallivanting all around England unsupervised, particularly when the Ministry laws cannot apply to them!" said Sirius, sounding extraordinarily out of character.

Headmaster and werewolf exchanged an amused look, it being strange to see such behaviour from one of Hogwarts' most infamous pranksters.  
"Don't worry, Sirius," said the werewolf tiredly, the full moon the night previously still taking its toll. "If they've gone anywhere with Alyssa this close to the full moon, you can bet it's safe; Arcturus wouldn't take that kind of risk..."

"How can you be so sure of that, Remus? You know him even less than I do!" snapped Sirius.

"I just have to remember how you and James were with me after the full moon," said Remus quietly, identifying the same protectiveness and consideration his friends had exhibited, in his best friend's nephew. "C'mon, Sirius, you said it yourself after he was Sorted – he's more like you than you thought."

Sirius sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face.  
"I guess you're right," he said with a slight frown. Brightening slightly, he shook his head at the irony. "Turnabout is fair play, eh Albus? I know you're thinking it..."

Too tactful to point out that Sirius' exploits had done little to vex his uncaring parents, Dumbledore focused on the positives.  
"Those boys are lucky to have you," he said leadingly, the fact that none of their respective former guardians would be worrying quite so much remaining unsaid. "I daresay they will be good for each other, too. Harry will learn a lot from young Arcturus, I wouldn't be too harsh on him when they return."

"Harry went willingly," Remus agreed, gently reminding his friend that both boys should share equal responsibility for the unauthorised excursion.

Nodding restrainedly, Sirius ran a hand through his hair and tried to focus on something else.  
"Any word from the Ministry?" he asked levelly, though his anxiety was easily detectable just under the surface.

"I have Alastor, Kingsley and Nymphadora on the scene," said Dumbledore, switching into what those privileged to hear it secretly dubbed his 'Order Voice'. "Apparently, Tom's men left as soon as they were met with resistence, empty-handed..."

"Why do I sense a 'but' here?" mumbled Sirius, exchanging looks with Remus, who was thinking the same thing.

"The alarm was already raised before they arrived, wasn't it?" said the astute werewolf. "Something was stolen..."

Albus nodded, pleased at his former student's deducive abilities.

"Diversion?" said Sirius, questioning whether or not the fleeing Death Eaters had been a decoy for another group already within the Ministry to escape.

"It is possible," said Albus. "But not likely. The Seizure of Magical Artefacts Department is not as thoroughly protected as some, but the standard Dark magic detectors still apply. The Dark Mark would have triggered the alarm as soon as one of Tom's people crossed the wards, but it was not raised until after they left the holding room with their bounty. Whoever broke into the Ministry first did not have any traceable connection with Dark magic."

Sirius' eyes narrowed into slits, his suspicions immediately falling upon his nephew, though he could not quite explain why. Shaking the thought from his head, he frowned.  
"Do we know what was stolen yet?" he asked slowly.

"Not yet, I'm afraid, they are still cross-referencing the itinerary," explained Dumbledore, the tone of his voice suggesting that it would be a while yet before they knew. He picked up a long piece of parchment from his desk in front of him and held it up towards the former prisoner. "This is a list of items seized from the Malfoy home after Lucius' death. Given the timing of this raid, it is very likely that whatever was stolen is somewhere on this list. Now, I don't wish to imply anything here, Sirius, but..."

"...you would like me to scour the list for anything that Arcturus might feel inclined to filch?" finished Sirius with a knowing sigh. His hand had already been on the parchment, intending to do just that before the man had even explained just what the list was. He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain that Arcturus was somehow involved, and what's more, he had an equally sound gut feeling that whatever the boy's motives, he wasn't working against them.

As if reading the mind of the unregistered Animagus, Albus Dumbledore was quick to assure them.  
"If it means anything to you, Sirius, I do not believe Arcturus capable of evil," said Dumbledore assuringly. "But it is becoming abundantly clear that he has been operating on his own agenda for quite some time, and he must be stopped; if only for his own safety."

At the headmaster's tone, the hairs on the back of Sirius' neck stood on end.  
"He's managed to hold his own thus far," said Sirius levelly, not liking his nephew's choice of past times one bit, but unable to deny the teen's experience. "What makes you think that he is suddenly unsafe?"

"Esmerelda Bane was amongst those seen fleeing the Ministry, with the Death Eaters," said Albus gravely. He sighed wearily, betraying his age. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but I fear that it may have been a mistake to divest young Arcturus of his Token. Separating Lady Bane from her chosen one has driven her even further into darkness..."

"-wait on, what's to say she wasn't already siding with snake-face before hand?" said Sirius defensively; "in which case getting rid of that ruddy crystal was the best thing I could have done for the kid, to spare him from that influence..."

Albus nodded indulgently, but his position remained the same.  
"Either way, she's not going to give him up without a fight," he said quietly. "That she has shown herself to be an ally of Voldemort has increased her reach. Remember the Prophecy..."

Sirius growled contemptuously, still unable to believe his luck that _both_ of his charges were ceremoniously fated by prophecy. He still refused to believe the fragment of a prophecy Moody had heard at the Ministry, the stubborn man inclined not to adjust his position until the Order had cross-referenced the broken orb with its official record; but an increasingly uneasy side of him could not deny the similarities between the unidentified Seer's premonition and the course of current events. He shuddered and shook his head.  
"No Albus," he said, reinforcing his denial. "You said it yourself – he's not capable of evil. Besides, why would he take Harry with him, if he was up to no good? Once Arcturus finds out that Bane's sided with Voldemort, she'll have forfeited any chance of ever getting him back. If there's one thing I know about my nephew, it's how much he hates Riddle, and all those associated with them."

"Well here's hoping Arcturus' feelings towards Tom are stronger than what he was conditioned to feel towards Lady Bane," said Dumbledore wearily.

Sirius took on a sickly pallor, painfully aware that what Dumbledore was saying was not good for his nephew, either way. Hate versus love... that was the ultimate dilemma, and while it would be protecting him from the woman's poisonous influence if his hatred for the man who killed his parents overruled, Sirius did not know how he felt about the idea of his nephew's hate being more powerful than his capacity to love.

End Chapter

Next Chapter: 'Confronting Darkness'

Due: Next Friday...


	17. Confronting Darkness

**Disclaimer: **If it were mine, work would not be sapping all fun out of sitting at a computer...

**Chapter Added: **Tuesday April 1, 2008 (In honour of Fred n' George of course!)

**A/N: **Yes, I know it's been forever. I don't really have an excuse except lack of motivation. Never thought I would set out to beg for reviews but, y'know, historically they do tend to spurn on updates! (takes of Slytherin hat now)

**Chapter XVII: Confronting Darkness**

"I thought you and Alyssa were... y'know..." said Harry, confused.

The two Gryffindors were casually leaning against the bar, members of the Squadron having dispersed throughout the dancefloor as soon as the concert was over; the magical speakers now blaring atmospherical music with an up tempo beat. Alyssa's performance had, in a word, been amazing. Words could not describe the emotions the Music Mage's mind orchestra had been able to invoke in her audience. It was different for everyone, Arcturus had explained during the intermission; the sound and feel of the music susceptible to perception.

For Harry, the tune in his head sounded suspiciously like a lullaby, a soft, cheerful humming that if he'd been able to look deep inside his subconscious, he would recognise as his mother's voice. Now, as he slumped bonelessly against the bar, still coming down from the euphoric high of the mental hug the unidentified memory had spurned in him – feelings of safety and love and all things innocent and pure coursing through him – he felt as though he could ask his friend anything. Spotting the star of the night cosying up on the dancefloor with a young man that was _not_ her boyfriend, he found his target.  
"She's all over him!" said Harry indignantly, gesturing towards the pair. "Aren't you the least bit offended?"

Blinking away the effects of his own secret song, neither teen ever to realise just how similar they were in their particular choice, Arcturus turned his head towards the dancefloor lazily and scoffed indifferently.  
"Alyssa is a pack creature," he explained slowly, as though Harry were somehow impaired. "It's in her nature. Besides, our relationship has never been what you could call exclusive."

Harry gaped openly at Arcturus, the sharp edges of reality firmly reasserting themselves in his mind with each passing moment.  
"She's only a wolf on full moons!" he protested, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Now that's where you're wrong," said Arcturus, straightening into alertness as he scanned the people around them for signs that any may have heard Harry's words – Privacy Charms be damned. He leaned in close and stared directly into the naïve boy's eyes. "She may only transform when the moon is full, but the wolf is never too far from the surface. I can see how you might think otherwise... your Lupin friend being what we like to call... decidedly domesticated."

"Domesticated? But you can't tame a werewolf..." said Harry. "Remus takes the wolfsbane to suppress the wolf, but it's never tamed..."

"Exactly my point," said Arcturus airily. "Perhaps if he was not in the constant fight for control and accepted the wolf, it would not take the Wolfsbane to stay safe during the full moon. Alyssa experiences very little bloodlust during her transformation because she does not deny her lupine nature in the more... trivial matters." - he gestured towards the dancefloor and shrugged - "She embraces the wolf's need for pack."

Harry took a moment to absorb the older boy's words, becoming increasing incredulous at the nonchalant tone.  
"You mean it doesn't even bother you? Not one bit?" he gaped.

Arcturus shrugged.  
"Alyssa and I will always be close, I will never have cause to doubt that," he said seriously. "We bonded when she was just a cub; she fashioning me as her Alpha... her protector. Once a werewolf has imprinted themselves upon another in such a way, it will never change. It is an honour I will cherish until the day I die, but it was never any secret that she would never be my bride."

"Why not? If you are so close like that..." started Harry, his voice trailing off as he gave into his confusion.

Arcturus stopped the boy with a hand on his arm, turning to face him fully.  
"Don't you have any inclination to continue your family's line? Create an heir?" asked Arcturus. At Harry's nod, he explained. "If I were the one inflicted, and I wished to impregnate a woman, there would be very little chance of the curse being transferred to the child. However, in cases of the mother having Lycanthropy, and transforming during the gestation period… and child from her loins would assuredly inherit the affliction. Neither Alyssa nor I could never wish her curse upon anyone, especially not someone who is blood. Alyssa has always accepted that I will marry another, just as I have accepted her need to build a pack for herself. We are both committed to being there for each other, we do not occupy ourselves with petty insecurities and doubts."

"But you want to dance with her, right?" said Harry insistently, nudging Arcturus in the ribs. "You danced together all night last time!"

"Three things," said Arcturus, rounding on Harry once more. "One. I have a certain posession in my pocket to consider. Two. It is customary for the star of the show to make the rounds after a performance; I do not wish to smother her in her moment. Three. I'm not letting you out of my sight; not after last time."

Harry blushed.  
"I thought we weren't going to mention that again," he scowled at the memory. The last – and only time – Arcturus had left Harry to his own devices on the dance floor, he'd almost gotten a black eye from his disgruntled dance partner, the unsuspecting girl affronted on behalf of her abused feet. Nervously, the Boy-Who-Lived scanned the room for any sign of the unfortunate witch and hissed at the older teen. "I wouldn't have even attempted to dance if you hadn't told me that lie about the Hex!"

Remembering how the younger wizard had fallen for the myth that a self-cast Tarantangella Hex could give the caster dancing ability, Arcturus chuckled dryly.  
"It was supposed to inspire confidence, I didn't think you'd actually rely on it," he admitted, shaking his head in silent mirth. "C'mon, I thought you said no hard feelings!"

"I'm beginning to reconsider," growled Harry, appreciating the boy's company, but feeling unnecessarily babysat at the same time. "I can take care of myself, you know. You don't have to hover around me like a damn bodyguard."

"Oh really?" leered Arcturus, reminding Harry directly of what happened at the Ministry hours earlier, when a rogue Death Eater had cornered the Boy-Who-Lived just as they were preparing to leave. "I beg to differ."

"That was different," said Harry testily. "You said yourself that this place took security very seriously."

"I'm glad one of us still has such great faith," said Arcturus, downing his drink with a jerky move.

After the near-breach in security during their last visit, Arcturus felt disinclined to agree. Whilst the Death Eater in question had been summarily Obliviated and admitted to St Mungo's long-term ward, Arcturus had no doubt that the Club's location was widely known by Voldemort's forces. He trusted the Club's staff to reinforce their security accordingly – he'd not returned otherwise – but just the fact that Death Eaters knew where they were was enough to keep him on edge. Harry, therefore, would not be leaving his side all night... not until he proved capable of holding his own in combat.

Telling the boy as such, not mincing his words as he criticised the lack of the boy's defence ability, he readied himself for the young man's wrath.  
"I've survived Voldemort three times, haven't I?" the Boy-Who-Lived snapped defensively. "I'm not a little child!"

"I never said you were, Harry, but you still have a lot to learn," said Arcturus. Reacting to the explosion a fraction of a second before Harry, he moved to stand in front of the boy instinctively and brandished his wand before them, scowling in anger.  
"And so do I, it seems," he added, cursing himself for thinking the Club could ever be safe again.

Death Eaters flooded into the Club, exploding tables and chairs and people out of their way as they went. House Elves scuttled about, torn between tidying up after the mayhem and serving those that they had been assigned to. Plainclothed and uniformed security alike became readily identifiable as they moved against the flow of fleeing patrons, making a stand against the unwanted guests. The distinctive popping of Disapparation heralded the lowering of the wards – standard security procedure for evacuation purposes, but unadvisable when faced with an unnumbered foe.

As many Death Eaters Apparated in as patrons Disapparated out, swelling the number of masked assailants to favourable odds. By the time the mistake was realised, Club staff hastily attempting to replace the Wards in favour of handing out Emergency Portkeys, Dark forces had already taken advantage of the venue's vulnerability, replacing the Club's downed Wards with restrictive ones of their own, preventing the activation of Portkeys and stemming the flow of Apparations to inbound only.

They were trapped.

Tearing his eyes away from the dancefloor, where he was vigilantly seeking out each member of his party to ensure their wellbeing, Arcturus slipped into battle mode. Grabbing Harry's arm, he cut a path towards an easily overlooked alcove, behind the bar, where they could remain safe for the moment. Refusing to turn his eyes away from the advances the Death Eaters were making, he hastily addressed the bewildered Boy-Who-Lived.  
"If I thought of you as a child, I'd stun you right now and stuff you under the bar, covered with your father's Invisibility Cloak," he said, removing said cloak from his pocket and stuffing it into the inside pocket of the boy's own robes; effectively entrusting him to guard over the cup wrapped within. Gesturing towards their prize of the evening meaningfully, he met the boy's eyes briefly. "Instead, I am placing you in charge of guarding the very thing which the Death Eaters have come for. Your sole concern is now that cup, do you understand? Nothing else matters! Do not leave my side."

"That's placing all your eggs in one basket, don't you think?" quipped Harry seriously, thinking of how equally (if not moreso) he was wanted by the man the Death Eaters served. At Arcturus' withering glare, he nodded solemnly and tightened his grip around his wand. "I'm ready."

"No, you're not," stated Arcturus, doubling back and wrenching his heirloom ring from his finger, forcing it onto the index finger of Harry's left hand. "It's a Portkey that will take you directly to _the family home_, Wards be damned. If I tell you to use it, I want you to activate it _without question_, do you understand?"

"But-" Harry began to protest.

Arcturus gripped the boy's shoulder painfully.  
"Agree, or I _will _send you away right now," he warned urgently, knowing that their location would soon be revealed. "So help me Potter, if you do anything to make me regret not shoving you under that bar you had better hope you don't make it out of here alive."

Seeing the dark look on the elder boy's face, and wincing under the teen's vice like grip, Harry nodded.  
"All right, all right," he said, accepting Arcturus' judgement on the matter; that once things got too deep, he would be summarily sent to safety. "But I reserve the right to call in the Calvary if you send me off."

Accurately reading the look on Harry's face even before the boy could acknowledge the unbidden question in his own consciousness, Arcturus shook his head.  
"Don't think for one minute that I wouldn't send you off to fetch the precious Order, if I didn't want to avoid having to account for our actions tonight," he said, nodding towards the cup that was buried in Harry's robes. "Besides, it will do the Squadron some good to get some field experience."

"Is that what you call this," grumbled Harry, ducking instinctively as a curse came flying their way, the pair dropping and rolling away from the fall out as the curse hit the stone wall behind them.

They were found.

"I found them!" the less-than discreet Death Eater who had sent the Reductor Curse hurtling towards them drew attention to both himself and their location. Arcturus had felled him with a Stunner before the man could so much as point.  
"Come on, this way," hissed Arcturus, grabbing Harry's sleeve and leading them across to the other side of the bar, both boys stooped down low as they ran across the length of it, the sturdy counter standing between them and the enemy. Reaching the opposite end, Arcturus nudged Harry down, so he would stay out of sight; peeking his own head over the edge in order to see for them both.

No sooner had he spotted the nearest Death Eater, had he hit the unsuspecting wizard in the back with a wordless curse, grabbing Harry's sleeve again and ushering them both to another advantageous point of attack. They weren't as lucky this time, however, as they darted across the open floor to the nearest upturned table, where one of Arcturus' squad was hunched over, bleeding; a trio of Death Eaters spotting their advance and firing curses at them in earnest. Deflecting and dodging what they could, the pair took refuge behind the heavy oak table, the elder of the two noticing immediately his Lieutenant's feeble attempt to cocoon the area in a Bubble Shield.  
"Nice work, Levens," he said appraisingly, scrutinising the extent of the fair-headed boy's injuries. "Cutting Curse? Portkey out and find yourself some Blood Replenishing Draught before you pass out."

"Thank you," said the weakened boy gratefully, knowing better than to question his leader's order. He would never have left the battle, without being given the proper leave; it just wasn't done. Before activating his own heirloom ring, he stopped to debrief Arcturus on what had transpired whilst he was behind the bar; filling his squadron leader in on the last known movements of his team. "Laarson evac'd back to the dorm with the two Muggleborns before the Wards were hijacked; neither looked to be in good shape. Pomfrey'll likely become involved if the seven years aren't back from the theatre to treat them. The rest are scattered on the southern end, at point of contact..."

"And Alyssa?" urged Arcturus, suddenly realised that the young werewolf had neither been accounted for or seen by himself since just after the initial disruption.

"She headed towards the balcony," said the wizard named Levens; the teen fading fast and clutching his ring in his bloodied hand. "Grey... Greyback was after her."

Arcturus froze. Closing the nearly-unconscious boy's hand over his family's crested ring, he nodded for the injured wizard to activate his Portkey home. As soon as the young man had vanished, Arcturus had Harry up again, this time in a retreat, towards the balcony. The passage to the rear of the room was strewn with furniture, enabling the pair to remain out of the direct line of fire. Whomever had fired at them earlier had either been taken down or distracted, for they had reached the back of the room relatively unmolested. It was all to be in vain, however, for they arrived at the threshold of the wide baroquial terrace just in time to see Alyssa fall.

"No!" Arcturus whispered, his voice hoarse with shock. It didn't take any stretch of imagination to see that the blow had been fatal. Pausing only to push Harry into the shadows, the aggrieved teen squared his shoulder's angrily, determined to avenge Alyssa before her blood had the chance to turn cold. Without even looking at the astonished boy behind him, he growled lowly. "Leave, Potter. Now."

"But..." Harry's protest died quickly on his lips as Arcturus rounded on him, crystal blue eyes glistening with both pain and vengeance. They were nestled in a nook behind one of the tall open doors, all they had witnessed seen through the crack between wood and hinge.

Arcturus glared at the boy dangerously, not in the frame of mind to contend himself with Harry's protestations.  
"I am going to avenge Alyssa, or die trying. I do not wish to add your life to my conscience," he ground out an explanation, respecting Harry enough to offer the boy anything less. "You heard Levens... the alarm is likely to have been raised anyway. Hide the cup, Phin will tell you where. Find Sirius and show him the ring, he will know what to do. Now go!"

Before the green-eyed teen could process all that he had just been told, Arcturus had clamped Harry's hand over the tarnished Black heirloom ring and muttered the password; withdrawing his own hand just before the Portkey activated. Then, no longer concerned with watching anyone's back, Arcturus took a deep breath and re-affirmed his hold on his wand. Gritting his teeth angrily as he spied Alyssa's lifeless body through the crack in the doorframe, he raised his wand, sending a Non-Verbal _Reducto _directly into the door before him, his residual shield absorbing the flying splinters of wood as he revealed himself to Alyssa's killer.  
"Greyback!" he growled, letting his presence be known, though inwardly he knew that the feral half-beast had likely scented him within moments.

"Ah, so the little Archer Boy sent baby Potter to safety before facing the big bad wolf on his own," cooed Fenrir Greyback, languishing casually against the edge of the balcony opposite his foe, not caring that he was no longer hidden by the exploded door. "Is it just you and me? Oooh, goody, goody."

End Chapter

A/N: Now, can you see why I procrastinated so long about posting this chapter? Alyssa's death just seems like such a waste of a good character... but it was the only way I could engineer the paradigm shift in Arcturus' character arc. Sorry!!

But in acknowledging that I have been a very bad, bad writer in making you all wait so long between chapters (though really, looking at the reviews that is only one of you, _hem, hem_!) I will not leave you all hanging on that cliffhanger...

...am I forgiven?


	18. The Walls Come Crumbling Down

**Updated: **April 1, 2008 (couldn't be the twins' birthday without two chapters!)**Chapter XVIII The Walls Come Crumbling Down**

No sooner had Madame Pomfrey's head disappeared from the fire, leaving to treat the inexplicably returned – and injured – Durmstrang student, did Sirius begin to fidget. Before any of his company could broker the question, the Animagus was out of his chair and striding towards the fireplace.

"Grimmauld Place!" was all the man said as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the grate, barely stopping to wait for trivial things like the flames turning green.

Remus and Albus exchanged a quizzical look before falling into step behind the dark-haired wizard.

* * *

"Quickly, boy! Young Sirius will be here at any moment!" the wildly animated portrait of Phineas Nigellus urged the bespectacled teen, knowing from both his grasp of the wards and his residency in the headmaster's office that a Floo connection between the two locales was being activated right at that moment.

"Arcturus! Harry!" a man's thundering voice carried up from the kitchen, several floors below.

Harry's eyes flew open in alarm, as he rushed to comply with the portrait's directions.  
"Quick, boy! Press the crest of the ring into its impression on my frame! There's a shelf in the wall behind my canvas; only Arcturus – and now you - knows about it."

Frantically unravelling the dragon hide pouch from the folds of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry pressed the face of the Black heirloom ring into the frame as instructed. Swinging the portrait open, the rushed teen hardly spared a thought to the contraband cup as he threw the pouch onto the ledge; the cup landing heavily atop a small leather book, before slamming the portrait back against the wall.  
"A little gentler would have been nice," grunted Phineas Nigellus, his image looking decidedly ruffled from the motion.

Ignoring the quietly grumbling Black ancestor, Harry gripped his cloak in one hand, and wand in the other, as he spun to meet his godfather half way.  
"Up here, Sirius!" he said breathlessly, running head on into the fraught Animagus as the man burst through the door.

Seeing the man's grey eyes scan the room for his nephew, Harry attempted an explanation. He must have looked a sight, his robes torn and dirty, face scratched up and smudged with dust and soot. At some point, one arm of his spectacles had over-extended on its hinge, hanging lopsidedly away from his ear. One lens was cracked and it distorted his vision as he stumbled against his godfather, realising for the first time just how exhausted he was.  
"Arcturus. Death Eaters. Attack. Alyssa down... Greyback got her..." said Harry dizzily, trying to convey the extent of the situation before promptly passing out, Sirius' arms reaching out reflexively and catching the oblivious boy.

"Harry, what?" he said in increasing alarm, only truly acknowledging the gravity of his nephew's plight when he saw the Black heirloom ring on his godson's finger.

* * *

They found Arcturus, bloodied and unresponsive, slumped over the slight form of the deceased Alyssa. Still conscious, the boy was nearing a catatonic state, his dull blue eyes seemingly sapped of their colour as they stared straight ahead, sightlessly. A contingent of Order members, led by Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore himself, had come across the missing student on the half-exploded balcony, the rest of the teen's squadron later tracked to various ancestral houses and hospitals throughout the continent.

With the boys involved all being under-aged, and hailing from several ministerial jurisdictions, the incident quickly escalated into a bureaucratic nightmare. Dolores Umbridge led a campaign that seemed more concerned with discrediting Albus Dumbledore than ensuring the wellbeing of those who had witnessed the Death Eater's attack. In fact, the official by-line – of the British Ministry, at least – maintained that in the absence of a Dark Mark in the sky, there was 'no sustainable proof' that followers of the 'long-dead' Dark Lord were ever involved.

Instead, unscrupulous fingers pointed towards the unknown Black heir, many beginning to question just why a member of such a notorious family had existed for almost sixteen years without the Ministry's knowledge. What began as one mentally-imbalanced woman's crusade to keep her family's heir all to herself soon become a consciously deceptive plot to raise 'the next Dark Lord' in secret; his terrorising 'reign' duly cut short by a vigilant Ministry. To their credit, the claims of Arcturus' involvement with the attacks over the summer were accurate, but they were wrong in assuming that the 'dangerous' teen had been out to eliminate potential competition.

All that said, still not enough evidence existed to formally charge Arcturus with anything. He was still wanted to give a statement regarding his encounter with Lucius Malfoy in the bookstore, just prior to the older man's 'disappearance', but the slanderous rumours remained nothing more than malicious gossip, spearheaded by an unscrupulous media, nervous ministry and smug High Inquisitor. It was becoming increasingly difficult otherwise to continue with the fanciful charade that the community was in peace time and the Dark Lord had not risen. In the meantime, Arcturus was being kept within the Black family compound, comfortably absconded within his childhood bedroom at Grimmauld Place, where he would simply sit and stare at the walls for hours on end, seemingly oblivious to all that went on around him.

"Arcturus, you have to eat something," sighed Sirius, shoulders slumping as he entered his nephew's room to find the meal tray untouched, Arcturus perched on the edge of his bed and staring sightlessly out the window.

An inexplicable shield had prevented them from going anywhere near the boy's injuries, the teen's wounds remaining untreated to this day. He hadn't spoken a word since being pulled from that balcony, and had only ever picked at his food when left alone with the meal. The only signs that assured them that the greiving teen had not sustained a lasting mental injury was the fact that his shield – which was largely believed to be a form of Accidental Magic - had not wavered, and when left to his own devices, furniture would move, and pieces of parchment would go missing.

Coupled with the subtle staining on his finger tips and bed linen, it was clear that Arcturus was writing, or drawing – or both – but where the parchment went, nobody knew. The one possible spy on the room, Phineas Nigellus, was remarkably tight-lipped on what transpired during the boy's solitude; the loyalty the portrait exhibited towards his youngest heir both heartwarming and infuriating to those desperate for insight. After a week of watching his brother's son waste away, however, Sirius Black was reaching the end of his tether, giving the former Hogwarts headmaster an earful whenever the portrait visited his frame in Dumbledore's office.

Kneeling in front of the boy, getting as close as he possibly could without breaching the subconscious shield, Sirius attempted to get through to his nephew.

"C'mon, Arcturus! Don't let yourself fall apart over this; it's not what she would have wanted!" he said imploringly. Seeing a subtle flicker of movement, Arcturus' head twitching up slightly, as though to look at him, Sirius rubbed his hands on his thighs and continued, encouraged by the slight reaction.

"It hurts like hell, I know. I _know_, Arcturus! Believe me! I am not trying to assume the value of your friendships, but James Potter was like a brother to me. Losing him..." his voice trailed off slightly as he became choked with emotion. "Look, I just know, all right?"

"My father _was_ a brother to you," whispered Arcturus hoarsely, the sight of his eyes locking with Sirius' the only proof that the words were not imagined. "Where were you then?"

Taken aback by the question, Sirius rocked back on his heels and gaped slightly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Your... your father and I weren't that close, Arcturus," said Sirius in a strained, almost remorseful voice. Inwardly, he was kicking himself for directing their first conversation in over a week, down this path. "You know that. I realise now that it was perhaps insensitive for me to address Prongs as my brother; I didn't mean to imply that he took Reg's place or anything-"

"Yes you did," stated Arcturus dismissively, his tone suggesting that the tongue-twisted Animagus would be wasting his breath to try and deny it. Locking eyes with his concerned uncle, he glared determinedly. "Just leave it, Sirius."

"At least take a Dreamless Sleep Potion," suggested Sirius, keeping a tight reign on the joy he felt by getting a response from his nephew, for fear that the boy could withdraw back into himself at any moment. The boy looked like absolute death, his fitful screams in the night not falling on deaf ears. Sirius reached out to touch his nephew's knee, hand withdrawing in frustration as his fingers were zapped by the light blue energy field that prevented human contact. "This isn't healthy."

Casting his uncle a withering glare, Arcturus lolled back onto the bed and rolled over, facing away from the persistent man; the reclusive teen's mind reeling from his uncle's latest attempt to reach out to him. The deaths of James and Lily Potter weighed heavily on Sirius' mind, Arcturus knew, for the man felt indirectly responsible for the events that transpired after the ill-fated switch of Secret Keepers. Realising, then, that the man did know what he was going through – in a certain respect - did not encourage him to open up; it just made him uncomfortable, and unable to face the man who was trying so hard.

There was no disputing the effect that Alyssa's brutal death had on him. Seeing her crumple to the floor in the wake of a fatal blow he had not been there to block haunted his dreams almost as much as the aftermath. He'd gone after Greyback with blind rage, the now grieving boy unable to reconcile his actions once the andrenalin had left his system. An heir did not relinquish their heirloom ring lightly. Under normal circumstances, Arcturus would have preferred to Portkey the younger boy out whilst the ring was firmly attached to his own finger; taking the time to painstakingly plot his revenge after regrouping, rather than do the things he did. But after a week of being left to nothing but his own thoughts, he was fast beginning to realise that his life was anything but normal; the circumstances that night, anything but ordinary.

"Arcturus, _please_..." Sirius' voice sounded pleading and broken as he slumped on the edge of the unrelenting boy's bed and begged for cooperation. A sharp hiss was all that alerted Arcturus that the man behind him had attempted to reach past his shield again.

Frustrated now, the man swore, the clinking of glass signifying the almost daily rearrangement of the untouched healing potions that sat on the bedside table.

"Fine! You don't have to talk about what happened! I'll protect you tooth and nail from the blasted Ministry... just take a goddamn healing potion!"

At his uncle's passionate vow to protect him, something within Arcturus snapped. Inhaling raggedly, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget what such words had once meant. Esmerelda had held him once, coaxed her way through his barrier and allayed his juvenile fears by lulling him to sleep with promises to watch over him always. She'd promised never to hurt him, too, and yet there she was, standing by doing nothing whilst Fenrir Greyback took the life of his one true friend. He'd spotted the woman perched on the railing of the far end of the balcony, not long into his confrontation with Alyssa's killer. There was no way she could have gotten there without having first passing the duelling pair, which meant she had been on hand to witness the werewolf take the life of the young Music Mage, and had done nothing.

Esmerelda had applauded him as he conjured the liquid silver that was to take the life of the uncouth half-beast. Words like sweet poison had flowed after that, the woman congratulating him on his vengeance with a twisted parody of maternal pride. Over a decade of having the woman in his head was not without its effect, Arcturus realising immediately that Alyssa's murder was yet another of the woman's sick trials; all meant to mold him into a more efficient killer and draw him to her side once everything he held dear in the mortal realm had been covertly torn from him. She had been concerned, she had said, that without her influence, he would become an unwilling killer. That he had unwittingly dispelled her concerns, succumbing to behaviour that he saw now as pathetically predictable, made him sick to the stomach.

Guilt. Remorse. Conscience. Emotions Esmerelda had once kept at bay flooded his mind, threatening to overcome his thin grasp of sanity. He had killed since his Token had been removed, but only when in Voldemort's company. In the latest battles, he had restricted himself to Stunners. The old Arcturus would have done a lot more than just Obliviate the one who had infiltrated the Club prior to the full scale attack. At first, he thought that his selective reluctance to kill was borne of a wish to make a good impression upon his audience, Harry Potter being present throughout both situations. But now he had taken a life – the first he could not blame on Bane's influence, or any valid threat on his life – Arcturus was beginning to question if he truly had what it took to prosper in the front lines.

_'You're still just a kid, you should be enjoying yourself while you can,_' a little, barely heard voice within Arcturus reminded him; his thoughts having drifted towards the 'road less travelled' quite a lot lately, after having spent the last few weeks of summer in the company of carefree teenagers. He'd remained tight-lipped about his childhood for good reason, mainly, he didn't have one to speak of. The training Igor, and later Esme, had implemented from the age of five started out more as a means to ensure Arcturus' survival; his guardians intolerant to infantile spats and poor self-control. His innocence had been stolen at age eight, when the neighbourhood girl he'd once watched from the window, was brutally killed. He'd taken his first life in her honour a year after that, and forgot all about the childish dreams he'd had, no longer wondering what it would have been like if he had just been allowed to go outside and play with her. With the subtle mediation of Esmerelda's Token, and his unconventional frienship with the afflicted Alyssa, he'd never had cause to consider his life as lacking; but now... now everything that was familiar had been torn from him...

The sob escaped him before he was even aware of the lump in his throat. Avenging the death of a loved one was supposed to relieve pain, not inflict such turmoil. Horrified, he buried his face into his pillow, inwardly cringing as the wash of his uncle's words confirmed that the man had heard. Even more startling, then, was the feel of Sirius' hand on his shoulder, the unplanned outpouring of emotion shattering the subconscious shield he'd needed to master in his childhood, for his own protection.

Flinching away from the man's attempt to comfort him, Arcturus curled into a ball and fought to Occlude his mind of such weak thoughts. Pained and exhausted from days of broken sleep and untreated injuries, however, Arcturus could not even get out of bed without great effort. Not wanting to show his uncle just how weak he was, he put up only a token fight against the man's attempts to embrace him; never would he admit that a part of him was not really adverse to the contact.

"That's it... let it out," whispered Sirius in soothing tones. The boy had yet to shed a tear beyond that barely constrained sob, but one look at him revealed that he was on edge.

Sirius had, by now, rearranged himself so that he was sitting fully on the bed, leaning against its head, with Arcturus nestled against him. That the boy did not pull away and repel him with magic spoke volumes of the teen's physical state, and he reached for the closest vial, not caring what it was.  
"Here, drink up," he whispered undemandedly, becoming increasingly concerned when the surprisingly docile Arcturus swallowed dutifully as the vial was placed at his lips.

Feeling the boy go lax in his arms, and altogether fearful that his silent nephew had gone into shock, Sirius shook him gently.  
"Arcturus?" he said, finding it extremely strange for the boy in his arms to have become so cooperative, so quickly. Shifting so that he could look his nephew in the eye, Sirius frowned when he saw that Arcturus' eyes were wide open and glazed. He shook him again. "Arcturus?"

Opening and closing his mouth a few times, inwardly battling whether or not he should speak, Arcturus took the chance.  
"I killed him," he said brokenly, blinking slowly as he stared ahead unseeingly. "I killed him, and it did nothing. _Nothing_."

Sirius grimaced, all too grateful that his nephew was not facing him, and was therefore unable to see his reaction. Arcturus had done more than just kill Fenrir Greyback, he had taken the life of the feared werewolf in a manner that matched the way the tyrant had lived. Hardened Aurors first on the scene of the attack had averted their eyes, stomachs heaving; all visibly effected by the sight that welcomed them out on that balcony. It was billed as a crime of passion... a knee-jerk reaction to cruel loss of life; self-defence of the most effective kind. The chances of charges were about as likely as anyone mourning the werewolf's loss, but that did little to assure Sirius; all who saw the half-beast's mangled corpse agreeing that it took a 'special sort' of person to take vengeance so far. The prophecy Moody had come across remaining fresh on the minds to all those who had heard it.

"I did it for all the lives he ruined. All the lives he ripped away..." said Arcturus in a distant voice, unwittingly answering his uncle's unspoken question. "But it did nothing. I don't... I don't understand..."

Sirius was about to ask his nephew to clarify, when the boy continued, unbidden.  
"All my life... all my life I've been raised for one purpose – to avenge my parents," said Arcturus hoarsely, seemingly unaware of his audience. "Even after grandmother died... at first, I thought that to avenge my father would win Lucretia's respect; earn my position as head of the family..." he took a staggering breath, shifting uncomfortably in the grip of the man he was unwittingly nestled against. "Then, when Gunther started at Durmstrang, and I heard from my grandparents for the first time; I was so sure that avenging my mother was the only way I could win their acceptance..."

The bewildered teen craned his neck up to look at his uncle.  
"But then you... you didn't care that it was the secret of my existence that led to Voldemort having my mother poisoned. You didn't judge me for being my father's son, or condemn me for my past..."

"-and I never will," vowed Sirius, squeezing the boy's arm encouragingly, overwhelmed by the revelations spewing from his nephew's loosened lips. Eyeing the empty vial that he still held in his hand, he nodded slightly when he recognised traces of a Calming Draught within. He realised, then, that whilst the draught was allowing his nephew to let down his guard and talk, it was doing nothing for his pain.

Reluctant to interrupt the teen, but overridden by his concern for his nephew's wellbeing, he reached for another vial - this one a pain reliever mixed with a sleeping draught.  
"Don't dwell on such things so much," he advised his nephew, holding the vial to the boy's lips. "You cannot possibly anticipate, let alone understand, the actions of all you come across. Just concentrate on getting well... c'mon... one more... drink up..."

Once again surprised by the boy's cooperation, Arcturus timidly drinking from the proffered vial without so much as questioning its contents, Sirius was left to his own thoughts as the medicated child in his arms succumbed to rest. Listening to his nephew's breathing even out, Sirius contemplated what the days ahead would bring. Making himself comfortable, the thoughtful Animagus rested his chin atop the boy's head. He had a sneaking feeling that Arcturus would not be nearly as cooperative once he had rested, and, resolved against giving his nephew the chance to ressurect his infallible blue shield, tightened his hold on the slumbering child.  
"I'm not going to give up on you yet, kid," Sirius murmured into the thick shock of brown hair nestled against him.  
'_Not ever._'

END CHAPTER

NEXT CHAPTER: The Beginning of the End

DUE: Ah, well I am kinda going to Egypt on Sunday, so won't be online for two weeks... but I'll try and post when I get back... I hope Arcturus' 'breaking point' was not horribly out of character for him... (though now can you see why Alyssa died?)


	19. The Beginning of the End

**Disclaimer: sigh Not mine.**

**Updated: Monday, May 19 2008**

**A/N: What can I say? Still not happy with the next few chapters and keep putting off posting until I have time to do re-writing. But it doesn't look like it will happen (the re-write), if not because of time but because of stupid Writer's Strike having delayed effect on my fickle Muse. So I am just going to hold my breath and throw away the last of my credibility by (gradually) posting the rest, as originally written... grumble**

**A/A/N (Another Author's Note): Sap alert!**

**Chapter Nineteen: The Beginning of the End**

Arcturus was disorientated to wake up in the unfamiliarity of a man's embrace, the weary Animagus having let down his own guard and fallen into a light slumber. The resonating pain in his limbs precluding any sudden movements, Arcturus shifted subtly and observed his uncle's sleeping form. Asleep, the soon-to-be-exonerated fugitive looked years younger, the omnipresent worry lines giving way to the vestiges of youth. Despite years in Azkaban, Sirius' hair remained full and dark in colour, and whether encouraged by the man's perceived victory earlier in the evening, or an enduring habit, he slept with a small smile on his face.

Shifting again, Arcturus flinched as his mind was overcome with images and thoughts that he had, for the longest time, denied himself from indulging in. Reflecting on how inexplicably _safe_ he had felt, waking up in his uncle's soothing embrace, he could not help but entertain thoughts about how his life might have turned out differently, had the man opened his father's letters. Would Sirius have overlooked the rift between the two Black brothers and taken him in from birth? Would he have come to him in the night and chased his nightmares away, holding him as he slept in much the same way he was doing now?

Feeling suddenly forlorn by all they had lost out on, Arcturus sank back into his uncle's loose embrace, inexplicably unwilling to pull away whilst the man remained unaware of his submission. So caught up in his thoughts was he, that he remained oblivious to the subtle hitch in the man's breathing, the change in rhythm signifying consciousness. Sirius did not open his eyes immediately, however, feigning sleep so that he might allow his nephew a few more moments of unguarded reflection. The thoughts running through his mind were unwittingly paralell to that of his nephew, musings of lost chances and what-ifs and cautious hope for the future dominating his mind. He didn't realise that he'd begun running a hand through Arcturus' hair until it was too late, the astute boy becoming aware of his consciousness and going rigid. Reluctantly, Sirius pulled away gently, not wanting to cause his nephew any discomfort – either physical or emotional.

"Are you all right? Are you in pain?" he asked quickly, looking down at the teenager who was looking up at him indecisively.

Considering the man's words, Arcturus was startled to note that he did not really know how best to answer his uncle's questions. Whilst not in any unbearable physical pain – his threshold in that regard long since having become immune to most superficial injuries – the turmoil in his heart and the unease in his stomach made it clear that things were far from fine.

Remembering, with only a twinge of regret, the previous night's exchange, Arcturus shifted uncomfortably and frowned in confusion. Sirius had seen him at his weakest, and yet the man still looked at him the same way. Not even Esmerelda, who had been the only person he could ever remember professing unconditional love to him, had managed to remain so unjudgemental when he displayed such vulnerabilities.

He'd not missed the woman's look of betrayal when she'd first seen him without his Token, his unlikely benefactor wordlessly disappointed with his inability to protect her hold over him. Nor had he missed the animalistic hunger in her eyes as her baser, predatory instincts took over the moment she'd tasted his blood. Esmerelda had not looked at him the same way since, and had in fact been driven to Voldemort's side because of her insatiable hunger for his blood. She'd confessed to him on that balcony that she would not stop until he was Turned, and that she would work tirelessly to make the mortal realm unappealing for him, so that he might give himself to her willingly.

Seemingly overnight, the cursed vampire witch had turned into the very monster she had pursued for centuries; blindly following in her sire's footsteps as she endeavoured to make her chosen's transition to the underworld more tolerable by removing the ties he had to the living. Telling her as such had no discernable effect upon the bloodthirsty vampire; all traces of the humanity and gentle nature that Arcturus had fooled himself into believing all those years was long gone. The Esmerelda Bane he now saw in his mind's eye was a manipulative operator, everything that the woman had done for him attributable to her thinly veiled desire to make him into a cool, efficient killer. A warrior to stand by her side for all eternity. She had not only engineered the attack on the defenceless Muggle girl he had foolishly turned her attention to, but, when that failed in its purpose, she had replicated the plan with an unsuspecting magical witch - Alyssa. When, then, the girl who she had provided as a childhood playmate had posed a threat, she had shown her heartlessness by having Alyssa killed.

It was with a stab of cold reality that Arcturus realised that Bane would never have allowed him to remain mortal, his supposed 'control' over their association a mere indulgence on her part to lull him into a false sense of security. He'd always been somewhat wary of the woman's ultimate plans for him, but he had never thought her capable of going to such lengths to undermine his wishes. Whilst he could not bring himself to fear the vampire witch, her inaction during Greyback's attack on Alyssa had confirmed for him that she could no longer be counted as his ally.

But then who could?

Oblivious to his audience as he lost himself in his thoughts, Arcturus did not notice as Sirius shifted his position suddenly, looking down at the unresponsive boy with increasing concern.  
"Arcturus?" he said in a slightly panicked tone as the boy did not seem to respond to his calls. Watching as the teen's eyes blinked into awareness, he rubbed his nephew's shoulder encouragingly. "Thought I lost you for a moment there, mate, you seemed a little lost in your thoughts... anything you'd like to talk about?"

Sirius knew he was pushing his luck with the casually delivered question, knowing that Arcturus would not be as pliable without the asssistance of a Calming Draught and a certain amount of pain. He fully anticipated to be pushed out of arm's reach at any given moment, and so it was to his utmost surprise, then, that the boy began to respond.  
"Bane," he said hoarsely, looking away from his uncle in concentration. For some reason, Arcturus just knew that he could trust his uncle, and for once he was willing to take a chance. "She said she loved me, that she would keep doing whatever it takes to have me. But if she truly felt that way, how can she do such things? How could she ever believe that I would go to her _willingly_, after all she has done?"

Startled by the implication that Esmerelda Bane had been present during the attack that saw Alyssa killed, Sirius tried not to let it show. Taking it in his stride, he was quick to take stock of the situation from his renewed perspective and offer his reassurances.  
"Sometimes, when a wizard has been through the wringer, they can be capable of things they would never have imagined," he said slowly. "Bane underestimates you if she believes you would ever fold under such pressure. You are made of stronger stuff than that, and she must know it, else she wouldn't be acting so desperately."

Closing his eyes slowly, Arcturus let the words of his uncle's fierce support wash over him, novel in their unfamiliarity. Bowing his head, he scowled softly.  
"How can you say that?" he questioned self-depreciatively. "You have known me for barely two months; Esmerelda has been part of my psyche almost my entire life. She is in a much better position to know my breaking point... if she believes there is a chance I will go to her, then the chance is a real one... and that's to say nothing of that damn prophecy..."

"I thought you placed no stock in that nonsense..." Sirius pointed out.

"I don't," said Arcturus defensively, but he did not sound so certain. "But you cannot deny the correlation. Bane knows me inside and out, there is a prophecy that already has me pushed towards darkness, and without Alyssa..."

Sirius grabbed his nephew's shoulder firmly, giving it a shake.  
"You still have me, and Harry," he said once the boy looked over at him in question. "Not to mention those eleven fine young lads that left Durmstrang to follow you! And believe it or not, that Gunther kid positively _worships_ you. Did you know he's not too happy at your grandparents for ignoring you all these years? Your grandmother has enquired about you daily since she left, and your grandfather is too pig-headed and stubborn to ever admit it, but he seemed to know an awful lot about a kid he'd never met when I last spoke to him; I've no doubt he's kept a very close eye on you all these years. Bane cannot possibly take us all away, and I know the part of you that is Regulus would not bow to her whims even if she did."

Surprised, and not entirely believing, his grandparents' apparent interest in his life, Arcturus shook off his uncle's affirmations with a dismissive shake of his head.  
"How can you be so sure?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"Your father stood up to Voldemort, even though he knew what was at stake," said Sirius in a pained, remorseful voice, years of having underestimated his brother taking their toll on his conscience. He leant in close to the conflicted boy, inwardly rejoicing when he noticed no blue shield, compelling him back. "Some may say that was foolish and stupid, but he and your mother gave their lives for what they believed in, so that your life would be free. Even at your lowest ebb, I don't believe you have it in you to overlook the opportunity they gave you by turning yourself over to that _woman_."

Blinking slowly, Arcturus stilled as his uncle's words hit home. Having witnessed the events surrounding his parents' deaths on almost a nightly basis, the fear and resignation on his father's face etched into his waking memory, Arcturus had based his entire value system upon what he believed his parents would have wanted for him. Certain indiscretions he had attributed to their untimely absence, but what Sirius said remained true... no matter what Bane did to torment him into accepting the immortal path, he could not disgrace his parents' sacrifice.

"So what now?" he whispered wearily, not quite familiar with the dynamics of such an intimate conversation. Remembering, then, that he knew very little about the condition of his squadron, and Harry, he looked over at his uncle in wide-eyed concern. "Harry... did he get back safely? My squadron... are they all accounted for?"

"Harry was a little exhausted and emotionally-wrought when he got here," said Sirius, though it would come as no surprise to the boy who knew only too well the side-effects of travelling with another's heirloom ring. Quickly turning attention to his nephew's classmates, he filled the squadron leader in as to the status of his squad. "All of your squadron returned in one piece. Several required medical attention, but nothing that prompt treatment was able to overcome. I hear you are the one responsible for instilling such an effective evacuation plan. It is commendable how you all looked out for one another and did not leave a fallen man behind."

Arcturus looked crestfallen, his expression hardening as he recalled the unmitigated rage he'd felt at Alyssa's death, and how he'd leapt into a bid for revenge with little regard for the safety of those around him.  
"I'm resigning my post," he said solemnly. "I let my team down."

Bewildered at where his nephew's turnabout was suddenly coming from, Sirius was quick to reassure the lad.  
"You did no such thing!" he said firmly. Piecing the puzzle together as best he could, he shook his head. "Harry tells me that you did not go out onto that balcony, in pursuit of Alyssa, until you had seen to the wellbeing of those you came with. He said that the first thing you did after seeing Alyssa fall was make sure he got out in one piece. I've a feeling your squadron would never stand for your resignation."

"Fine, I didn't let them down," he said testily. "But I let _her_ down. I let Alyssa down. There's no undoing that."

"You're right," said Sirius archily. "Not that you let her down – you did everything you could, kid – but there _is_ no undoing what happened. Beating yourself up about it and removing yourself from those that depend on you will not do anything... except maybe put your friends in a worse position should they ever find themselves in a similar situation without you there to lead them."

Arcturus frowned and, stretching out his legs experimentally, made his decision. Shifting his body away from where his uncle still sat on the edge of his bed, he swung his legs over the opposite side of the mattress and sat up, determined to get out of bed. Waving away Sirius' hand as the older wizard leapt up and rounded the bed in an effort to assist him, he stood slowly; eyes closing of their own accord as he fought against the dizziness that swept over him. One palm splayed against the wall for support, his other clutching a book he had retrieved from under his pillow, he balanced one foot after the other; sharp flicks of his wrist shaking off his uncle's grip everytime the man darted forward to help.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom? Let me help you!" said Sirius with a tone of helplessness.

Arcturus silenced him with a look.  
"I've not required _help_ in that regard since I was a toddler, and it was humiliating enough then," he scowled, cocking a brow at his overzealous uncle. At the man's blush, he relented. "If you really want to help, you can fetch a travel pouch for those vials of potions you like to play with so much. I've no doubt I'll have need for them within the hour."

"An hour... wait, where are you going?" said Sirius in alarm, watching as his nephew staggered across the room and fetched his wand and cloak; transfiguring his pyjamas mid-stride as he flung the cloak over his shoulders. Sirius rushed forward and opened the door for the departing boy before he realised that he actually wanted to be urging Arcturus back into bed.

Gripping the door with one hand and doorframe with the other, Arcturus halted in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at his uncle, who looked about ready to grab him by the shoulder.  
"The Ministry, where else?" he ground out tersely, as a bolt of pain coursed through him suddenly, throwing him off balance and causing him to pitch forward unsteadily. He was grateful for Sirius' fast reflexes, the man's hand shooting out to steady him before he fell. Taking a deep breath to recover his resolve, he straightened his shoulders and favoured his uncle with an appreciative nod. "Thanks."

Before Arcturus could take a step out the door, however, Sirius had ducked under his arm and blocked his path.  
"You can't go to the Ministry. Not like this!" he warned. "What if they decide to detain you? You have to wait until you're recovered... until Dumbledore's smoothed the way, at least..."

"I don't need Dumbledore to fight my battles," said Arcturus, his chin raised defiantly. He shoved past his uncle and cut a slow path down the hall, calling over his shoulder as he went. "If I can withstand an audience with the likes of Dark Lords, werewolves and vampires, then I can overcome the British Ministry. I don't intend going in there blind, you know. I'm not an idiot."

Eyes flashing in anger, Sirius grabbed his nephew's arm and hauled him back around to face him.

"That's exactly the attitude I had as I was hauled off by the Aurors – people I used to _work with_!" he snapped, sweat dotting his brow at the memory. "I laughed as they cuffed me in chains, because I was just so sure that their hasty actions would become next week's joke, once I had a chance to explain. But I never got that chance, Arcturus! You walk in there on your own esteem, without Dumbledore's help, and they won't think twice about throwing away the key; you have to trust me on this!"

Shaking his arm out of Sirius' grip, Arcturus halted at the top of the stairs, partly to rest his battered body, and partly to address his uncle's concerns.  
"This is nothing like that night, Sirius," he said steely, rounding on the man in equal derison. "You were drunk. You were grieving. There was no possible way you could have planned for such a situation. Now I, on the other hand, may be grieving. I may be injured; but there are potions for that, and this meeting has always been an inevitability. So trust _me _on this! You can either come with me, or get the hell out of my face!"

Sirius faltered for a moment, and then began to follow his nephew down the stairs, coming up alongside the labouring boy easily as the teen took his time.  
"Well if I can't talk you out of this lunacy, then of course I am coming with you," he said finally, resting a light hand on his nephew's shoulder; inwardly rejoicing when the teen made no move to shrug him off. "But can you at least sit down for a while? Maybe eat something? Let Poppy take a look at you, perhaps?"

As though mention of the woman conjured her from thin air, the omnipresent nurse appeared at the foot of the stairs, none too pleased to find her incommunicative patient out of bed.  
"Back up to bed, this instant!" she screeched, stabbing a finger in the air, at a point beyond Arcturus' shoulder as the boy halted on the bottom step, towering over the determined medi-witch. When the boy did not so much as flinch, she turned her attentions towards the older wizard behind him. "Sirius, what do you think you are doing, encouraging him? You should not have let him leave his room!"

"Sirius is no more my keeper than you are," growled Arcturus softly, fighting to keep a reign on his civility. "Now kindly step out of my way, woman, before I do something I regret!"

Moving aside automatically, Poppy could only gape as her patient hobbled past. A thought occuring to her as the boy disappeared into the study, she grabbed Sirius' sleeve as he passed.  
"Why is he dressed? Where does he think he's going?" she hissed, determined to shake some sense into both Black men and put an end to their illusive folly.

Smirking in anticipation of the predictable nurse's reaction, Sirius leaned against the balustrade casually and shook the hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head.  
"Arcturus wants to go to the Ministry," he quipped nonchalantly. "Get things sorted sooner, rather than later..."

The woman's eyes widened, her cheeks reddening, and then she was off; stomping into the study without further preamble. Quick to follow, Sirius arrived just in time to see the remarkably quick witch hauling a protesting Arcturus out of the fireplace.  
"No Floo Calls!" she shrieked, guiding the bemused teenager into the closest chair. "You have a suspected concussion!"

Brushing non-existent soot off his forearms, Arcturus leant back into the comfortable wing back and allowed himself a moment's rest.  
"That's all right, I was finished anyway," he said flippantly. Narrowing his eyes at the fussing woman, he scowled as she tried to pull his cloak off. "By the by, how can you suspect anything when I have not submitted myself to an examination? Will you _please_ stop manhandling me? I do not have time for your games now, woman!"

"You will stop this nonsense at once and allow me to diagnose you!" snapped Poppy, her temper frayed after days of being a helpless bystander. She pulled her wand and aimed it at the scowling teenager, pinning his wand hand before he could counter her efforts. "I am the nurse, and you are the patient; therefore I am the authority!"

"Correction," snapped Arcturus, pulling his hand out of the woman's grip and drawing his wand on her in self defence. "I am master of this household, and you are overstaying your welcome!"

Poppy Pomfrey halted at Arcturus' ice cool tone, knowing all too well a home owner's power to magically expell someone from their property. Sheafing her wand, she stepped back and relented.  
"Very well," she said through gritted teeth, for allowing a patient to remain untreated went against all of her training. But before the outdone medi-witch could turn to Sirius and have the man talk sense into his nephew, a loud 'pop' caught them all off guard.

"That was quick, Dobby," praised Arcturus, genuinely surprised at the elf's efficiency.

"Mr Kirsch is asking Dobby to fetch trunk of Mr Harry Potter's new brother," said Dobby with an enthusiasm only he could possess. "Dobby is happy to serve Mr Harry Potter's new brother, Mr Arcturus Black, sir!"

"And I am very appreciative for it, Dobby," said Arcturus. "Please set the trunk down by the shelf."

The House Elf complied, beaming from ear to ear, and then faced Arcturus for his next direction.  
"Is there anything else, Mr Arcturus Black, sir?" said Dobby. "Is Mr Arcturus Black having a message for Dobby to give to Mr Harry Potter?"

"Harry is back at the school?" said Arcturus, looking to Sirius for confirmation. In hindsight, he couldn't really think of anyplace else for the boy to be, but it was surprising nonetheless to be outwitted by an elf. At Sirius' nod, he regarded the eager elf with a thoughtfull look. Knowing it would make the elf's day, he smiled wryly and leant forward in his chair slowly; careful not to agravate any injuries in view of the hovering nurse.  
"Thank you Dobby, for the suggestion," he said indulgently. "If you could let Harry know I am all right and not to leave the school no matter what he might hear in coming days, I will much appreciate it. Can you also thank him, for me, for doing such an efficient job of things after we last departed? He'll know what I am referring to, and if he doesn't just tell him that I hope his Invisibility Cloak is not any worse for wear."

Sirius watched the exchange between boy and elf with increasing curiosity, making a mental note to observe the two teenagers in his care closely next time they were together. Harry had remained remarkably tight lipped about what had transpired after he'd left the school with Arcturus; investigations had confirmed that the students had not been at the Club the entire time, and suspicions they had somehow been involved in the incident at the Ministry were only just that... suspicions. No one at the Ministry took the threat of a few students seriously, and so, officially, no action would be taken, but a handful of Order members – Sirius included – were not as easily deceived.

Noticing the barely noticable wince of pain that came over his nephew's face as the determined teen lowered himself to his knees and began rifling through his trunk, Sirius darted forward to help.  
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, rocking back on his heels, trying his hardest not to appear as though he was taking advantage of the rare opportunity to see inside his nephew's trunk and, herego, gain some sort of insight into his life. He reached out instinctively as Arcturus hefted aside an armful of books, almost losing his balance in surprise when the teen dumped the texts in his arm, causing him to sway. Setting the books aside on the floor carefully, he peered at the distracted teen in question. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing I haven't just found," said Arcturus distractedly, pulling a book out from the bottom of his trunk that was identical to the one he had brought down from his bedroom.

Quickly replacing the false floor before his uncle could notice the glint of silver therein, he closed the lid of his trunk and, leaving the discarded school things splayed around it, abandoned, rose slowly. Placing the thinner of the two books under his arm – a decoy of his father's journal he had been meticulously forging for the better part of the summer – Arcturus held the genuine arcticle reverently and approached his grandfather's cabinet that was located behind the desk. Muttering a password under his breath, he placed a palm on the intricately carved panel, causing the disguised, handle-less door to open. Ignoring the inquisitive gazes of the adults around him, he reached passed his grandfather's Pensieve and set his father's journal in an easily overlooked shelf that was veiled in darkness. Closing his eyes and thinking of a magical Bulgarian blessing Viktor had taught him, he spent a moment to bid his treasured belongings safekeeping before sealing the secret cabinet and addressing those in the room.  
"I'm ready, now," he said resolutely, retrieving the dummy journal from under his arm and running his hand over it in quick scrutiny. Nodding in approval, he returned the leather-bound tome to the crook of his arm and headed towards the fireplace. Turning back with an afterthought, he looked at the disgruntled school nurse. "Madame Pomfrey, I do so hate to part on such perilous terms when it is clear that all you want is the best for your patients. You have my word that you may poke and prod me to your heart's content once my business has concluded, but I implore you to let me be the judge of when that will be. I know my body's limits and, whether you choose to believe it or not, will see to its urgent needs as they arise."  
He paused to allow his words to sink in before continuting.  
"In the meantime, could you please instruct Dumbledore to reign in the Order. I have a statement I wish to make upon my return from the Ministry and duly suspect that your people would benefit from hearing it."

Before the jilted medi-witch could attempt to cut him down for being self-important, Sirius cut in.  
"It wouldn't have anything to do with that journal you placed in the cabinet, would it?" he asked, the pieces coming together in his mind.

Smirking lightly, in appreciation for his uncle's deducive ability, Arcturus nodded curtly.  
"It has everything to do with that book," he said smugly. "Though quite frankly I am surprised that you recognised it."

"I should, I gave it to him," quipped Sirius casually. It was now his turn to smirk as a look of undeniable surprise swept over his nephew's face. His expression quickly turning into a sad smile of acknowledgement, he gestured towards the fireplace; a fair idea of what his nephew was about to pull forming in his mind. "Shall we?"

An unfamiliar feeling settling in his stomach at the realisation that his uncle both trusted and understood what he was up to; witholding all judgement on it, Arcturus squared his shoulders and nodded. Accepting the small pot of Floo Powder from Sirius' hand, he stepped into the hearth.  
"The Ministry Atrium!" he called.


	20. Plans Coming Together

**Disclaimer: If it were mine, I wouldn't be spending all of my wakeful, productive hours in a regulated time-suck (aka office) doing a daily impersonation of a House Elf.**

**Updated: Friday, 22 August 2008**

**A/N: I'm not even going to say it. Words can't do justice. But in the wake of Wnker Bros' latest announcement I didn't ever want to be compared to them and decided to get the monkey off my back and post the rest of this story, even though I am entirely unhappy with its ending (albeit months of procrastination and I can't formulate a re-write so, begrudgingly, it's all I got for you...)**

**Aaaaaannd... that was one long sentence.**

**Chapter 20 Plans Coming Together**

"Forgive me, Mr Black, if I do not appear convinced," said Rufus Scrimgeour suspiciously, a little frazzled by this little unscheduled meeting and its subsequent revelations. He'd almost been of mind to turn the enquiring wizards away until he'd heard that both men in question had made no secret of their entrance; parading themselves through the Ministry Atrium in peak hour, making no attempt to conceal their identities. News of the boy's very existence was still a hot topic of discussion, even moreso in the wake of his apparent involvement in the recent attacks on Death Eaters. With the elder Black still technically under house arrest, pending a Ministry exoneration – something his department was shamelessly delaying for wont of prolonging their being held accountable for such a bungle – the news of the pair presenting themselves to his office, unannounced, would undoubtedly make the _Daily Prophet_'s headlines. He would be damned if he didn't have an official statement to give them when they came calling.

It surprised him, though, how open the reputably illusive Arcturus Black was being about his crimes... and there was no pussy-footing about it – the boy had committed quite a few.  
"You do realise, that with the information you have just given me, I could have you confined to Azkaban for an indefinite term?" he asked incredulously, avoiding the glare he got from the boy's uncle at the mention of the prison his department had unwittingly sentenced an innocent man to; albeit before his own time as department head.

Arcturus looked unperturbed.  
"Oh, I doubt you could confine me anywhere I did not want to be," said Arcturus boorishly, inspecting his nails. He leaned forward in his chair and pierced the head of the Magical Law Enforcement with a calculating look. "What if I were to tell you it was against your best interests to do so?"

"Is that a challenge, Mr Black?" said Scrimgeour, on edge even though he knew full well that both men before him were unarmed; such was Ministry procedure. It was no secret that the boy before him had not acted alone in those attacks, and the ambitious official was not about to doubt that the teen kept pretty dangerous company.

The unassuming teen looked scandalised.  
"Of course not, Rufus – I hope you don't mind me calling you that – I much prefer action over idle threats, after all," said Arcturus in a matter-of-fact tone, his eyes sparkling with the mirth at his own hidden joke. He had, of course, a few other names he'd rather call the Ministerial lackey, but pushing for such familiarity was much more disarming. "I was merely suggesting a proposal. Given the exemplified incompetence of your department, I thought you'd might appreciate the offer for assistance."

Scrimgeour turned from flustered red, to purple, in record time; his hands clenching into fists as they braced the table he was sat behind, eyes glaring at the petulant teenager. The thought of this boy spouting such propaganda without restraint made his blood run cold... he would have to either sway the boy's opinion, or have him removed from society; the image of the lost Black heir giving the clamouring media a story or two more unimaginable than any of the lives the teen was said to have taken.  
"May I ask, pray tell, what prompted you to draw such a conclusion?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Eyes glinting like a cat who had just gotten the canary, Arcturus leaned back in the chair he'd invited himself into and stretched.  
"How do I fault thee, let me count the ways..." he said with a poetic lilt, putting his own twist to Browning's words. His expression darkened, and his tone turned deadly serious. "One: your department neither investigated my father's death, or gave my uncle here a trial, as were their constitutional rights-"

"-Your _father_ was an established Death Eater! His case was open and shut! His death was just like all the other chewed up and spat out death eating scum He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named threw our way; it didn't warrant investigation!" declared Scrimgeour pompously, apparently oblivious to the effect his words were having on his audience. He went on. "As for your _uncle_ here, I was on leave when that all happened so I cannot quantifiably state why he did not get a trial, except to say, in my department's defence, that the evidence _was_ undeniably overwhelming-"

"-Oh, so you got a confession using Veritaserum, then?" said Arcturus with feigned surprise. "Dispatched a forensic team to examine his wand and compare it to the magical signature left at the scene, hmmm?"  
He shook his head mirthlessly.  
"But that's right... you didn't do any of that! Your department condemned a man to Azkaban on the pittance of 'overwhelming' eye witness testimony, isn't that right? The testimony of Muggles, might I add, who wouldn't know a wand from a stick of wood! I've done my homework, _sir_, and you know as well as I do that any court would have ruled the testimony of Muggles inadmissable, in accordance with Byline b, Section 1793 of the Secrecy Act!" spat Arcturus. Then, pulling a sheet of parchment out from between the pages of the book he was carrying, he glared at the buck-passing Ministry official before him and slammed the Release Form on the table, for all of them to see. "Are you going to deny your involvement now, hmm? That's your signature, right there, is it not? Co-signing away Sirius Black's right to a judicial trial? What was the problem, Scrimgeour? Your department too busy celebrating the fact that a _one year old_ had succeeded in doing something they had never even come close to achieving, to process the crime scene properly? There was ample opportunity to build a material case... plenty of evidence to be found... but you had to do what was _easy_!"  
He pulled out another document, this one a very slim copy of Peter Pettigrew's 'autopsy' report; which was made a matter of public record, after his 'death' all those years ago.  
"Again, here is another piece of evidence, easily obtainable by any member of the public," said Arcturus haughtily, shaking out the creases in the paper and holding it before him importantly. "And I quote: 'The point of dismemberment seems almost surgical in its appearance, which is generally inconsistent with this type of explosion. Note to M.L.E Forensics to correlate the precise time of the explosion with the Timedate Signature on the deceased's remains. Possibility Deceased's finger was either severed before the street explosion, or left behind by an unidentified third party, who could have taken body for nefarious purposes.' There! That extract alone ought to have been enough to launch a Coronial Inquiry! The threat of Inferi armies was valid, and even if it were the completely wrong way to head, the department's inability to link my uncle with an 'unidentified third party' would surely have begged the question of his own motives! And you asked why I thought your department incompetent!"

Thoroughly cut down from where he sat, and confronted with evidence that, with a spin like that, made Black's innocence irrefutable, Rufus Scrimgeour shrunk back into his chair, avoiding their gaze. Across from him, Arcturus was looking victorious at his opponent's silent admission, and Sirius' initial shell-shock at his nephew's calculated and unexpected defence of him was quickly dissipating into furious anger. But before the wrongly-accused wizard could so much as rise out of his seat, Arcturus placed a steading arm in front of him, blocking his way.  
"Take another sip of that Calming Draught I slipped you in the Atrium," Arcturus suggested calmly, schooling his emotions into a mask. He glared at the morally compromised departmental head. "Whether you were just corrupt, or bribed, or just plain stupid, I don't care. I expect you to fix it. You have had Pettigrew's body long enough, don't think we don't know that you're just stalling now! Grease the wheels and put a stop to this 'restricted release' nonsense and I will consider not taking my information to the press!"

The implicit threat now made clear, Scrimgeour was on the defensive, scrambling to protect his good name.  
"I do not believe you are in the position to be making threats," he said firmly, though he was unable to repress the slight waver in his tone. "I concede you raise a number of pertinent points that, perhaps, being as burnt out from the war as my department was at the time, might have been regretfully overlooked in regards to your uncle's case; but you are forgetting, boy, that your departure from this building remains in my good graces. Unlike before, the M.L.E Forensics team have been quite fastidious in building quite a case against the person, or persons, responsible for the unprovoked attacks on suspected former Death Eaters, one test of a hair you've likely shed whilst in this office and it will be quite easy to issue a warrant for your arrest."

"Oh, but I am not here to deny what I did," said Arcturus with a secretive smile. "Though I must say, you might not like the _media attention _my defence will bring. It's quite the story."

Bemused, and just a little bit curious, Scrimgeour leaned back into his seat and interlaced his fingers across his wide girth.  
"Well, then, you're fortunate that my afternoon is clear," he said congenially; not before buzzing his personal assistant and telling her to clear his calendar for the rest of the day. "As you can see, I am all yours."

"To put it simply, Rufus – because I really wouldn't want to overestimate you – I wasn't exactly _myself_," explained Arcturus cryptically, sharing a look with his uncle in secretive amusement.

At the Ministry wizard's perplexed look, Arcturus indulged the man with a brief account of his Token, and the nature of the bond he shared with Esmerelda Bane. When he was finished, Scrimgeour was eying him with leery disbelief.  
"You expect me to believe that a _trinket_ you don't even have any proof of even existing can justify your 'unwilling' involvement in the torture and mutilation of your kind?" he said. Whilst slightly more inclined than his Ministerial superiors to believe the rumours of Voldemort's return, he was toeing the Ministry's line in front of the volatile teen in an effort to be more intimidating. He couldn't let it be known that he had secretly rejoiced in the downfall of Lucius Malfoy, the arrogant blond aristocrat having stuck his fingers in one too many pies to have many friends in his department.

"You've a history for making such leaps, so yes, I do," said Arcturus with a nod. "But just incase that brew's a little too tough for you to swallow without incentive, I have a little gesture of good faith that might just pique your interest."  
At those words, he placed the book he'd brought with him on the table and patted it reverently.  
"My father's journal. I believe it will help you solve several unsolved cases from the last war," he frowned and paused for effect, then leaned in close and continued in a low whisper. "Something that I am sure will deflect the public's attention from that which this Ministry is apparently not yet ready to accept. If your department is seen as taking an active role in persecuting old crimes, then when Voldemort lets his return known and Fudge falls from office I daresay you will find yourself in a rather enviable position."

At the implication that his immediate superior was in denial about the threat of Dark wizards, Scrimgeour's first instinct was to defend the Minister – promote solidarity throughout the Ministry. But at the mention of furthering his own career he found his fingers inching greedily towards the book the boy had placed between them.  
"Unsolved cases, you say?" said Scrimgeour, feigning disinterest, though the greedy look in his eye gave him away. "And what might I have to do in exchange for this information, hmmm?"

"Expedite my uncle's _full_ exoneration and grant me immunity for all crimes I have committed prior to this date, citing the Duress Clause of the Abraxas Ammendment of 1941," said Arcturus with a smug smile. Abraxas Malfoy had abused his position on the Wizengamot, ensuring passage of legislation that would conveniently go on to absolve many influential Dark wizards of war crimes under the premise they had not been acting of their own free will. With the death of the last Malfoy to ever benefit from such a law now dead at his hand, it was with smug satisfaction that Arcturus applied the loophole for his own means.

Scrimgeour nodded and frowned slightly. The proposed capture and persecution of the younger Black was supposed to deflect attention from the inadequacies of his department's actions when the elder Black was wrongly imprisoned. The evidence that would incrimminate the boy was still somewhat lacking – the lad having covered his tracks well – but the case they were to have built against the boy and the thorough trial to convict him was supposed to show the wizarding public just how much they had progressed from mistakes made over a decade earlier. Could he pass up that opportunity in favour of removing a few aging thorns from the department's side, sight unseen? His eyes flickered towards the book in hesitation.  
"What evidence would I have to substantiate that your actions fall under the scope of the Duress Clause?" Scrimgeour asked finally, inclined to add a few conditions of his own.

"Oh, I am sure you will think of something," said Arcturus with a lofty expression.  
Then, as though he had been able to read the man's mind, he skewered into the doubt keeping the older wizard from making a decision.  
"You can arrest me and try me if you want, but it will only backfire, I can assure you," Arcturus said confidently. "The evidence I have to assist in my own court defence may be enough to acquit me of all charges, but for you to use them to quantify the enactment of the Abraxas Ammendment will only draw suspicion of a deal being made... and I don't think it is in either of our best interests to have our actions undermined by supposition and rumours, do you?"  
He looked at his uncle pointedly and then raised a brow at the department head.  
"Any agreement we reach must be above board and iron-clad... we wouldn't want to perpetuate a vicious cycle of error."

Out manourvered at his own game, Rufus Scrimgeour backed down, his mind already scrambling to think of how he could use the exemplified exploitation of a young boy to his advantage. Remembering, then, how much of a hindrance Dumbledore's little group of vigilantes had been to taking the glory for the light side's victories during the first war, a plan began to formulate in his mind. The wizards whose deaths Arcturus Black was implicated in were all easily connected to Dark magic, whether by the department's own investigations or whatever content lay in the book on the table. It was not inconceivable, then, to have the control of the boy's actions pinned on onto an over-zealous Dumbledore supporter, or even the man himself. He wouldn't of course, imply as such from the outset, but it would remain a very valuable blackmail tool should he ever need leverage in future. The smile that curled onto his face was predatory and victorious, the elder wizard remaining oblivious to just how open his mind had been to the observant teenager.

"Mr Black, I do believe something can be arranged," said Scrimgeour, closing the deal.

* * *

"That was too easy," said Sirius uneasily, walking in through the door of Grimmauld Place behind his nephew, the pair having just returned from the impromptu press conference Arcturus had insisted Scrimgeour hold; before the man could have a chance to twist things to his own advantage.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" said Arcturus smugly, casting his uncle a superior, all-knowing look.

"There's something you're not telling me," said Sirius, recognising the expression on his nephew's face immediately. He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder and steered him towards the direction of the study. "Spill."

Holding his chin up high, Arcturus stole across the room and fell back into his favoured wingback, his exhaustion fast catching up with him now that he no longer had to wear the mask he wore whilst in the presence of Ministry officials.  
"Oh it's nothing much," he said candidly, reaching for one of the vials Sirius had packed in his travel pouch and downing its contents. "Dear Rufus gave me something _I _wanted, and in return I gave him something _he_ wanted."

"Why do I get the feeling that something wasn't in that book you cooked up?" muttered Sirius with a questioning look at his nephew. "What did you _really_ give him."

"Leverage against Dumbledore," said Arcturus with a smirk. "I hadn't expected it, to be honest, but I guess it would be easier for someone like Scrimgeour to believe that I had been manipulated by some meddling old coot like Dumbledore to go hunt down all those Death Eaters than some mythological vampire witch who is supposed to be Dark anyway."  
He shrugged and gave his uncle a sidelong look.  
"Course, there's no way in hell he'd ever be able to link Dumbledore and I together, should he ever need to stoop so low to further his own means-"

Sirius cut in with a frown.  
"Wait, I don't recall there being any mention of Dumbledore," he said.

"There wasn't," said Arcturus simply, tapping his temple with his index finger. "It was all there in his head."

"You used Legilimency on him?" said Sirius, in awe. "W_andless_ Legilimency?"

Arcturus shrugged.  
"I didn't even have to try and negotiate the outer shield of his mind," said Arcturus in mild disgust. "When that man plots, his thoughts are so close to the surface it's sickening. Guess that's what they mean about being blinded by ambition..."

"And I guess that's how you were able to push his buttons so masterfully," said Sirius with a hint of pride. He grinned over at his nephew. "But I am not sure what Scrimgeour would have to gain by implicating Dumbledore, when you could just turn around and present the evidence you'd otherwise have used for your defence in a trial."

Arcturus pondered his uncle's words for a moment before making a realisation of his own. He stroked his chin and noted dimly that he should have given the astute Scrimgeour a little more credit.  
"Perhaps he called my bluff," he said slowly, his mind racing to think of what might have prompted the wizard to back down.

"Called your..." Sirius' voice trailed off and he physically jerked in realisation. "You were bluffing him? You didn't have any evidence that would prove you were being controlled by a Token, did you?"

Arcturus shrugged.  
"Didn't matter if I did. I would never have allowed him to arrest me," he said arrogantly.

Sirius clenched his jaw and closed his eyes wearily.  
"You are not yet sixteen, Arcturus! How could you have avoided being arrested in the _middle of the Magical Law Enforcement Department_?" he began to pace in front of the hearth in growing agitation. "You are not invincible! Whatever possessed you to take such a risk?"

Again, Arcturus paused to lend weight to his uncle's words. He realised, quite violently, that he _had_ charged into his plan with very little consideration of the various outcomes. Not only did he fail to anticipate Scrimgeour's need to have leverage on Albus Dumbledore, but he really hadn't paid any thought as to just _how_ he would have avoided incarceration, should the man have decided to call in the Aurors. Yes, he carried a Portkey and spare wand on him always, but being the Department of Magical Law Enforcement he was certain there would be warding in place to prevent such avenues of escape. His subsequent bluff had been rather foolish... playing on Scrimgeour's doubts and fears of reprisal had been easy enough, but it really could have gone either way. Looking at it from his uncle's perspective for the first time, Arcturus began to realise that he had, indeed, taken a very big risk. Clearing his mind enough to respond to the man's question, he shook his head.  
"Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking," said Arcturus frowning. He rubbed at his brow in irritation. "With all that has transpired these last few weeks, I _haven't_ been myself."

In a stark moment of clarity, Sirius stopped pacing and moved to stand before the seated teen, scooting down and balancing back on his heels to look his nephew square in the eye.  
"Perhaps, somewhere deep down, you _want_ to be punished for what Bane made you do," said Sirius gravely. "Even though none of it is your fault... you do know that, don't you?"

Arcturus sighed, his breath catching when the thought occurred to him that the man could be right. Whilst he had made plans to address Dumbledore's Order upon his return, he'd gone to lengths to ensure Sirius would know where to find both the journal and Pensieve in the event he did not. Consciously, he had no desire to subject himself to the horrors of Azkaban... but at the same time he did not feel any self-preserving urge to hide what he did. He would admit it to anyone, though hardly out of pride, and for someone who had once made a point of not caring what others thought, he could not account for the swirling rifts of guilt churning deep within him.

The book, he had created shortly after Karkaroff had informed him of Voldemort's return. Before he had learned of Abraxas' Duress Clause, it was to have been the body of his defence should he have ever been caught and prosecuted; but he was not about to tell that to his uncle. He'd found the clause shortly after Malfoy's death, whilst trying to comprehend how the man could have maintained such a high standing in society despite the crimes that were once brought against him. Then, when the Ministry seemed set to drag their feet in issuing his uncle with a full pardon, and Arcturus had seen the strain it had been placing on both Sirius and Harry, it had sparked a catalyst of events that culminated in the unprecedented revelations and feelings he experienced after that morning's talk.  
"I did it for you!" said Arcturus softly, looking directly into the man's eyes with something akin to childlike wonder on his face.

Sirius reeled back in surprise, and was about to ask for more information when he noticed that the boy in front of him seemed about as shocked with the revelation as he was. Reaching forward and placing a tentative hand on his nephew's knee, he could only rejoice when the boy did not flinch away.  
"I did. I did it for you," Arcturus re-affirmed, more to himself than his awestruck audience as he shifted his gaze in a restless search for reason. He locked eyes with his uncle once more, but the gaze was much less secure. "I didn't even _realise_ why I was doing it... I was just feeling so damn helpless after Alyssa, I didn't want to sit by and do _nothing_ whilst the Ministry was keeping you in this _house_. Not when there was something I could do..."

Sirius couldn't help himself. He twitched his lips and chuckled dryly.  
"And let me guess, you gave no thought of the consequences?" at the boy's distracted nod, he smiled widely. "I think we've solved the mystery."

His attention drawn by the lilt in his uncle's tone, Arcturus blinked at the man in question, his brow furrowing in confusion.  
"Mystery? What mystery?" he snapped, irritation settling in as he began to scrabble to re-assemble the cool exterior Bane had so clearly been instrumental in upholding.

"The mystery, my dear nephew, of why the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor!" said Sirius proudly, though Arcturus did not miss the concern that still loitered in the man's eyes.

Seizing upon the man's valiant attempt to inject a little levity into the situation, Arcturus scowled half-heartedly.  
"Or maybe, being the one to take my Token, you unwittingly implanted some of your patented irrationality into my mind!" he sneered, though it did not reach his eyes.

His mind was still in turmoil, wildly speculating on the motives for his most recent behaviour, but just as he had realised that morning, there was something disarming about his uncle's presence. Something calming. Something _safe_. Now he was no longer hinged by Bane's influence or fixated on the letters the man had failed to read all those years ago, he was beginning to see just why his father had wanted Sirius to raise him. Pushing aside the feelings associated with such a realisation, Arcturus settled for a change of subject. Motioning his hand to indicate that he should like to stand, he waited patiently until Sirius moved aside before rising and heading towards the cabinet that held all of his secrets. Allowing himself a grin at his uncle's antics as he spotted the man shaking out the cramps in his legs like a drunkard, Arcturus cleared his throat to get the man's attention.  
"You know, Sirius, I'm quite surprised at you," he said in a leading tone. "We've been back here nearly half an hour and you've asked no questions about either the book I gave Scrimgeour, or its source..."

"I don't need to ask," said Sirius smugly. "Your father and I may not have gotten along, but I didn't give him that journal without having a fair idea on what he would fill it with. I think I should be more concerned about what you left out of the copy you made Scrimgeour."

"Who ever said the book I gave Scrimgeour contained information my father collected?" said Arcturus with a brow raised. He leaned against the mantle, hugging his father's journal to his chest. "Is it entirely inconceivable to think I may have made my own observations, and compiled it to look like the account of a Death Eater, to add credibility?"

Sirius cracked a grin.  
"You've set him up," Sirius observed wryly.

Arcturus' face betrayed nothing.  
"Oh, with the exception of _one or two_ false leads, I am sure the department of Magical Law Enforcement will find the book very useful," said Arcturus levelly. "It would not do to raise suspicions by sending them on a complete and utter goose chase; but it will prove a sufficient distraction."

"Distraction?" said Sirius.

Arcturus tapped the book in his arms meaningfully.  
"My father may have been a foolish man, but he was not a wholly stupid one," said Arcturus reverently. "The information in the journal I bartered with Scrimgeour may be thorough, but it is the content of _this_ journal that will win us the war-"

"How can you be so sure?" said Sirius sceptically, unable to fathom knowledge from his dead brother playing any role in their victory over Voldemort. Regulus Black may not have been an idiot, but he wasn't _that_ smart. He did, after all, become a Death Eater.

"My father may not have worked it out fully, but combined with my own independent research, I believe I have pinpointed a way to destroy Voldemort," said Arcturus. "But once I reached that conclusion, I realised that I could not do it on my own... which is why I have requested an audience with the Order."

Remembering how his nephew had sent the nurse away with a message for Dumbledore to call in the Order, Sirius was suddenly reminded of his nephew's injuries, and the promise he'd made to the insistent Medi-witch to delay treatment until his return.  
"I should see if Poppy is back yet," said Sirius, looking his nephew up and down for signs of discomfort. "Have her come and take a proper look at you."

Arcturus hugged the journal in his hands closer to him and nodded curtly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he allowed a little of his mask to fall.  
"You're probably right," he said, walking to the nearest chaise and spreading himself out upon it, letting out an indulgent sigh as he relaxed back against the raised arm and got the weight off his feet. "I want that woman out of my hair before the Order is ready for me."

Poppy was quickly located in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, having a rare moment of indulgence with the house's de facto hostess, Molly Weasley; the pair relaxing over tea and scones. As soon as both women heard that Arcturus had returned to have his injuries properly attended to, they were quickly back on their game; Molly realising the time and leaping up to get a start on the catering for that evening's unscheduled meeting, and Poppy all but Apparating in her haste to reach her patient.

"You would have healed considerably faster if you had permitted me to treat you the night you came in!" said Poppy, gently chiding her now cooperative patient. "I would perscribe further bed rest, but if you are anything like your cousin and uncle before you I am not going to waste my breath."

"Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks," Arcturus muttered, shooting his uncle a pointed look.

With the beneift of heightened hearing thanks to his secret Animagus form, Sirius was the only person to catch his nephew's words; his bark of laughter in response earning him a suspicious look from the seasoned Medi-witch.  
"It's not a laughing matter, Mr Black!" she snapped at the elder of the pair. "Your nephew is extremely lucky his shields bore the brunt of the curses in that battle, else he might have been left with permanent injuries."  
She gave Arcturus a disproving look before fossicking through her carpet bag full of potions and medical supplies.  
"Now, I want you to take these potions three times a day, with meals, and apply the topical salves before you retire at night. I cannot stress enough how important it will be for you to get a full night's rest for at least the next two weeks... and _no_ Glamours!"

At hearing the woman's overzealous conditions, Arcturus opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off before he could even draw breath.  
"I mean it, young man! If I see you looking the least bit fatigued I will have you admitted to my ward and will not let you leave until you have proven that you are capable of putting your recovery needs before all else!"

"That's all fair and good, but I cannot put my life on hold," warned Arcturus, thinking that there was no way he was going to sideline himself for over two weeks. "I will take the medications and sleep as directed, but I will not alter my schedule during the day – just so we're clear. I have disrupted my routine enough as it is already. I have responsibilities that cannot be ignored."

Poppy looked set to argue, but decided to choose her battles wisely.  
"As you are a new patient, I will allow using your own judgement," said Poppy. "But _just so we're clear_, I will be watching you like a hawk, and will not be nearly as accomodating if I have to reinforce your treatment."

"I can agree to that for now," said Arcturus. "Now if you would be so kind as to inform me when I can be expected to address the Order?"

At Arcturus' pointed request, Poppy exchanged an awkward look with the boy's uncle.  
"Well about that," she said, her voice trailing off as she looked to Sirius for help. Finding none, she steeled herself for confrontation. "You see it is highly unorthodox for an underaged wizard to be granted an audience with the Order. It has been suggested that you discuss your concerns with both your uncle and Professor Dumbledore, so that it may be properly determined if the information you wish to impart may be of interest to -"

Arcturus scowl grew lowder with each word.  
"You are insinuating that the findings of a _mere schoolboy_, such as myself, would be a waste of the Order's precious time?" he snapped testily, cutting the woman off with a glare. "May I remind you that I have already sat in on part of an Order meeting – the Blood Wards inherent in this house precluding me from divulging that which is sworn to be a secret under the terms of the Fidelius Charm placed on the property. Furthermore, I am not some self-important schoolboy who is wanting to be indulged, or otherwise '_handled'_. If I had wanted to waste my own time, I would succumb to my pain and welcome the chance to spend two weeks in the infirmary, to recover from my wounds. Age should hold no bearing in determining the validity of my request, and if you dare to undermine me again I may just reconsider who I share my information with."

Not wishing to see his nephew's fiercely loyal squadron detracting themselves from their studies in favour of embarking on an adult's crusade, Sirius stepped in.  
"Poppy, tell Dumbledore I vouch for Arcturus on this and share his indignation at his presumptuousness," said Sirius in a authoritative tone. "Has a meeting been scheduled, at least?"

"There is a meeting scheduled for 7pm tonight," said Poppy, sounding appropriately chastised. She looked at Arcturus apologetically. "Albus wanted to have them onhand just in case."

Arcturus curled his lip into a malevolent smirk.  
"For that, he can wait to find out with the others," he said haughtily. "Now if that will be all, my uncle and I have much to discuss; I am sure there is something you have to return to. Thank you for your time and care."

Unaccustomed to being so summarily dismissed, but quite unable to fault the boy's manners – however brusque – Poppy quickly gathered her things and prepared to leave.  
"Very well," she said, rather clinical and to the point. "Do not forget what I told you, and for Merlin's sake come to me if you need anything. No one will think any less of you for wanting to take some time out to heal yourself."

Rising to formally bid the woman well, he gave a short bow of acknowledgement.  
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey, for such assurances," he said congenially. "Rest assured that I will take your words under advisement and will not consider myself a stranger to your ward in the event that there is something I cannot provide for myself. May I bid you well until our next meeting."

Nodding at the young man in response, she smiled in amusement as she caught Sirius' eye.  
"Well, there's no mistaking he's your nephew!" she exclaimed, referring to the distinct charm she'd now come to experience from both Blacks, at one point or another. "I shall see you both in due course. Good day."

Waiting until the woman had closed the door behind her, Arcturus motioned for his uncle to cast the necessary Privacy Charms whilst he stood and strode towards his school trunk, which was just as they had left it a few hours earlier. Setting his father's journal down by his side as he knelt in front of his trunk, feeling a little better for wear after the nurse's rather thorough assessment, Arcturus spelled open the lid and rummaged through his school things. Pulling out a smal wooden ornament, he drew his wand and tapped it against the polished grain, wordlessly transfiguring it into a ornately carved box that looked as though it had been created from the one block of wood. Pressing the ring his uncle had been thoughtful enough to return to him days earlier, up against the centre of the lid, he opened the container to reveal a magically larger interior, lined with deep forest green velvet.

"Hold this," said Arcturus, gesturing the antique carrier towards his uncle and nodding in approval as the crouched down and held it open, so that he might place something inside.

Returning to his task, Arcturus then removed the false floor of his trunk, revealing for the first time the items he had stored therein. Spotting the silver hand immediately, Sirius almost dropped what he was holding in surprise.  
"Is that what I think it is?" he whispered, eyes wide.

Without looking up, Arcturus picked up the offending appendage and dropped it into the waiting box unceremoniously; carefull not to remain in contact with the magically charged suspected Horcrux for too long. Sliding the false floor back in place, Arcturus pointed his wand at his trunk and muttered a basic packing charm, magically spelling all that he had discarded from inside his trunk earlier back into their rightful places.

Once his trunk was packed and sealed once more, Arcturus stood and took a moment to stretch before accepting the box back from his uncle and setting it upon the mantlepiece. Seeing the question in the man's eyes as their gazes met, Sirius pulling himself up into a standing position with the aid of a nearby chair once freed of his burden, Arcturus shook his head slowly.  
"I'll answer your questions momentarily," he said, his eyes already directed towards his next task: retrieving Slytherin's locket from the bottom of his grandfather's Pensieve.

Summoning the finely appointed stone bowl from its shelf in the hidden cabinet, and using magic only the vessel's owner could wield, Arcturus banished the memories therin back into their respective vials – row upon row of which were bracketed to the back of the cabinet. Cancelling, then, the simple Disillusionment Charm that concealed the bounty within, Arcturus hooked his wand around the thin chain bearing the locket and dangled it over the waiting box; dropping it in with a slight flick of his wrist. Closing the lid of the magical carrier that his father had custom-designed to keep his journal hidden, Arcturus transfigured the container back into is inconspicuous paper weight and swiftly pocketed it.  
"Come, let us adjourn to my room," he said in a tone that left little room for argument as he picked up his father's journal and tucked it under his arm. Without waiting for his uncle to respond, he levitated his trunk and headed towards the door; trunk and uncle trailing behind him.

"Y'know everyone's been looking for that hand," Sirius hissed into the boy's ear as they made their way up the stairs, side by side.

Without breaking his stride, Arcturus led the way into his bedroom and settled his trunk down by the end of his bed.  
"So?" said Arcturus dismissively as he retrieved the ebony satuette – of a snake, no less – from within his robes and returned it to its natural state; placing it and his father's journal in the centre of his desk, before crossing the room to regard his favoured portrait. "'Lo Phin."

"It's good to see you up and about, my boy," said Phineas Nigellus, looking upon his youngest heir favourably. His oily eyes flitting towards Sirius in realisation, he tilted his head in acknowledgement as he further addressed the boy immediately before him. "I see you have returned for your bounty. I am glad you have decided to follow my advice."

"Always one for keeping it in the family, eh Phin?" said Arcturus with a smirk, keying his ring into the base of the portrait's frame. Wishing he could see the look of shock on his uncle's face as the portrait then swung open to reveal a hidey nook, Arcturus was not disappointed when the man voiced his surprise.

"That... I never knew that was there!" said Sirius in dismay, eying the portrait of his ancestor with a look of betrayal. He glared at the portrait. "Why didn't you tell me, _Phineas_?"

"You never asked, _Sirius_," said Phineas smugly, his voice sounding muffled as it rebounded off the nearby shelf. Wincing as Arcturus swung the frame home, the two-dimensional image shook his head and scowled at the impatient teen. "If it's any consolation, I'd have thought twice about telling the lad here, if I had the chance to do things over... how many times do I have to tell you to _be gentle_! I can feel that when you slam it!"

"I would have thought you'd welcome a bit of feeling, Phin!" said Arcturus cheekily, making it clear to Sirius that there had been much more interaction between portrait and tenant than there ever had been whilst he had been growing up in the house.

Setting eyes upon what his nephew had retrieved from the nook that was hidden behind the portrait, Sirius' eyes narrowed as the boy opened the dragonhide pouch to reveal a tarnished gold cup.  
"There was an antique cup listed amongst the items seized from Malfoy Manor," he said darkly, frowning as he was confronted with irrefutable evidence of his nephew's involvement in the Ministry break in. "Please don't tell me that's the same one."

Arcturus raised a brow at his uncle and clucked his tongue in disappointment.  
"You were on the verge of greatness, my friend," he said cryptically. "Then you had to needlessly question yourself. You should trust your instincts."

Closing the distance between them in three wide strides, Sirius braced an arm on his nephew's shoulder and squeezed firmly in reproach.  
"Now I am not going to deny that my friends and I pulled some pretty hair-brained stunts when we were your age, but breaking into the Ministry? Are you _insane_?" he said in dismay, eyes wide as he tried to instill a sense of morality in the independent teen. "I would be a hypocrite to tell you not to break the law full stop, but the Ministry, Arcturus? For a... a... tarnished old cup? How is that worth the risk?"

"This isn't just any cup," said Arcturus quietly, eyes sparkling with hidden knowledge. Wrapping the flap of the pouch around the base of the cup, he was careful not to come into contact with the tarnished metal as he sidestepped around his uncle and deposited his treasure into the waiting box on his desk.

Closing the lid of the box and sealing it with a drop of his blood, Arcturus gripped the edges of the box and drummed his fingers against its sides as he contemplated his next course of action. Staring down at the swirling pattern carved into the grain, he made his decision.  
"I need a drop of your blood," he asked his uncle without turning around. When the man did not respond, he picked up the box and turned to address him formally. "If what this holds is to be of any use to the Order, then it makes sense for one of its members to be able to open the seal, wouldn't you say?"

"You want me?" said Sirius, vaguely familiar with Blood Locks to know that it was a privilege to be keyed into the charm. "An Order member... but you could choose anyone... why not Dumbledore? He is the leader-"

"-But I don't trust him," Arcturus was quick to point out, his eyes glistening with something akin to respect. "Besides, this was my father's lock box. It wouldn't be right to take it outside the family."  
He placed the box back down on the desk beside him and gestured for his uncle to come forward.  
"Also, even though you are now a free man, it would be strategically disadvantageous to deploy you on the front lines, considering your connection to Harry," he explained. Taking his uncle's wrist in hand and drawing blood from the man's finger with his wand, he altered the protections on the box to enable Sirius to open it as he continued. "This way, you will have a vital place amongst your peers."

Grabbing hold of his nephew's hand as the boy moved to let go of his wrist, Sirius stared at the child in question.  
"Arcturus, just what is in this box?" he said quietly. "Why are you trying not to touch them?"

Gently prying his hand from his uncle's grip, Arcturus flicked his wand at the lock box and turned it back into its disguised form. Balancing the highly-polished coiled snake in the palm of his hand, he closed his fingers around its base and inspected it reverently before gesturing it towards his uncle in a kind of salute.  
"That, Uncle Sirius, is a very good question," said Arcturus jovially, all tension from events earlier in the day draining from him as he teased his uncle. "But I am afraid you will have to wait until the meeting tonight. In the meantime, however, there are some entries in my father's journal that I think you might like to see..."

END CHAPTER


	21. Age is no Barrier to Greatness

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

**Updated: Friday, 22 August 2008**

**Chapter 21: Age is no barrier to greatness.**

Sirius sat and watched quietly as his nephew diligently prepared for his upcoming presentation. They had adjourned to the main study to discuss Regulus' journal and Sirius was taking a while to come to terms with what he had been shown. Languishing in front of the fire with a snifter of whisky sitting forgotten in his hand, he lost himself to his thoughts. The only sounds audible in the room besides the steady ticking of the clock on the mantle and spontaneous crackling of the fire in the hearth was the frantic scratching of quill on parchment. After years of the howling winds, anguished screams and roaring waves that dominated the soundtrack of Azkaban, Sirius could not help but be soothed by the dependable, yet subtle, sounds around him.

They had spent well over an hour pouring over the more personal entries in Regulus' journal, Arcturus having insisted on leaving all content pertaining to his father's involvement with the Dark Lord to that night's meeting. A lot of what Sirius could see was not dissimilar to the missives he had so foolishly returned unopened, but he was hearted by a candid observation by his brother that absolved him of some of his guilt. For though Regulus had been persistent with his correspondence, the man knew there was a very small chance of Sirius actually reading the letters and, most importantly, did not blame his older brother for keeping such distance. Sirius supposed he would have been more satisfied had Regulus gone on to lament the breakdown in their relationship and expressed his regrets, but then had anything to that effect have been written he would have probably questioned its authenticity. The idea of Regulus badgering Sirius with letters despite acknowledging that he had no chance of being heard, was just so typically Reg, and not to mention quantifiably Slytherin. If Sirius didn't know any better, it was almost as though Regulus had anticipated the Gryffindor-ish guilt he now felt for ignoring that which would have otherwise informed him of a nephew in neeed, and was now up there somewhere having the last laugh. Whilst such a realisation did little to actually make Sirius feel any better for unwittingly abandoning a defenceless infant to the likes of his mother, he was now determined not to dwell on it.

Feeling eyes on him, Arcturus lowered his quill and glanced up at his uncle, the conscientious teen pausing to take a moment to massage the cramp in his hand.  
"Are you quite all right?" he said, feeling somewhat unnerved by the intensity of his uncle's gaze. "It is rather disconcerting to work with a pair of eyes boring into you. Are you really that remiss about having to wait until the meeting?"

Sirius blinked at his nephew and frowned slightly, only just becoming aware that he had been staring.  
"What? Oh... no I suppose if I must wait, I will wait," said Sirius distractedly, averting his eyes in favour of staring into the bottom of his surprisingly empty glass. Banishing the crystal away with an absent flick of his wrist, he shook his head and stared into the fireplace. "I guess I am just bored."

"Read a book," said Arcturus, not bothering to look up from the work he had since returned to. He finished the note he was writing and then sightlessly waved his quill in the direction of the nearest bookshelf. "One of the most celebrated libraries in London at your disposal and you're _'bored_'?"

Shooting his nephew a petulant look, Sirius scoffed indignantly and folded his arms across his chest. It didn't bear saying that he was only bored when in the presence of such a collection because all that he was truly curious about – namely his brother's journal and the Pensieve of memories hidden in the secure cabinet – he could not have free reign upon. Quickly dismissing the thought – he had already asked to look inside the Pensieve once that afternoon and did not want a repeat of the boy's rebuke – Sirius settled for observing his nephew's form.  
"You know, you remind me of my father when you sit there like that, poured over your work," he commented wistfully. "He was a researcher for the Ministry, you know..."

His interest piqued, Arcturus cast aside his notes for the moment and looked at his uncle in interest.  
"An Unspeakable, you mean. No need to beat around the Bludger," said Arcturus with a touch of pride, seeing no need to practice discretion when in a warded room with his present company. At his uncle's look of surprise, Arcturus shook his head once and averted his gaze. "Alas, that's about all I know of the man. No one's ever likened me to him before, in any event."

"He would have liked you," said Sirius earnestly, remembering all too well how he and his brother had vied for their father's approval, each finding it in different ways. "A big one for gaining power through knowledge, and yet formidable enough with a wand... and you know if I didn't know any better, I'd suspect the Sorting Hat had wanted to put him Gryffindor too. Not that he would ever have admitted as such in front of your grandmother. Slytherin to the core, that one."

"-He did not object to you being placed in Gryffindor?" asked Arcturus in surprise, keen to determine whether or not his own unfortunate Sorting would have been viewed favourably by the grandfather he never knew.

"He was surprised more than anything," Sirius observed. He bowed his head. "Some of the things I did to your brother, and later Snape, did not exactly come from the mind of a Gryffindor, as my father would say."

"But I thought you didn't get along with your parents... they blasted you off the family tree!" said Arcturus, slightly confused by the way his uncle was talking of his father.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Sirius debated inwardly over how to best continue.  
"My father was by no means a demonstrative man," he said finally. "A lot remained unsaid..."  
His voice trailed off, and he stared into the flames.  
"No, it was _mother_ who had an issue with my Sorting. Took it as a personal affront – a betrayal – things went downhill after that," he continued, wringing his hands; restless at the memories his mother spawned. "Had Father not been so absorbed in his work and away so often, I may have been able to put up with Mother's bigotry – I don't know how you did it, kid..."

"I was barely seven when she passed," said Arcturus with a shrug. "A certain degree of ignorance made the time bearable, I guess."  
He frowned as he was struck by a revealing thought.  
"If your father did not want you removed from the family tree, then why didn't he exercise his control as Patriarch?"

Sirius' eyes darkened and he scowled at the thought.  
"If there was one thing that could threaten the respect I held for the man, it was his submission to my mother," he said lowly, his voice haunted by the disappointments he had faced in his childhood. He rubbed at his eyes before looking directly at his nephew. "Contrary to popular opinion, Orion Black was a good man. If not for the fact he was an Unspeakable, he would have the admiration and respect of the entire Ministry, even today. The times Reg and I spent with him without mother present were amongst some of the best times in our lives, but... it all went to hell in a handbasket whenever mother became involved."

"She was jealous," Arcturus observed, piecing things together in his mind. He rested his chin on a hand and shrugged. "From what I remember of the woman, she didn't take too kindly when I expressed an interest in someone other than her; on the rare occasions we would have guests."  
He paused, frowning slightly.  
"But what I don't understand, is what kind of hold the woman could have held over her husband, that it drove him to forfeit his power as head of the family and stand by whilst his firstborn was turned out-"

"He did ensure that I was suitably renumerated for the trouble," Sirius pointed out, not willing to admit that his father had ever been quite that spineless. "From my perspective, he could have stood up to the woman, yes; but the man was still first and foremost a Slytherin. I guess it was just easier for him to indulge my mother than live with her wrath. For what it's worth, I can't really think any less of the man. Mother was a one-of-a-kind piece of work, and it was not as though he ever really deprived me of anything. Probably saw it as doing me a favour when he gave me no reason to return here - I don't think he'd have lived in this house if he'd had half the choice. Besides, whilst Mother's actions ensured all material title pass on to you as Regulus' son, I retained my magical inheritences; father never took them away."

"You mean there's a way to strip a blood heir of that birthright?" said Arcturus, his eyes narrowing in thought.

Sirius nodded, and waved a dismissive hand towards the bookshelves.  
"If you're prepared to dabble in a little Dark, illegal magic. This _is_ one the most _celebrated libraries in Britain_," said Sirius, mirroring his nephew's earlier words. "I do think it was one of the only times my father ever lied to my mother."

"He died trying to save my father," said Arcturus speculatively, wanting to ask his uncle how that had made him feel, but reluctant to pry. "Even though he knew his son was already lost… he forced Kreacher to take him there…"

"Where was 'there'?" prodded Sirius gently, not missing the inference as his nephew's eyes subconsciously shifted towards the cabinet where the late wizard's Pensieve lay. When Arcturus remained unresponsive, he shook his head slowly and endeavoured to inject a bit of levity into the conversation. "Yet another reason why I remain convinced that he would have made a good Gryffindor, I suppose."

Chuckling dryly, and just a little bit relieved at the revelation of latent Gryffindor traits throughout his family, Arcturus smiled gratefully at his uncle's change of tact.  
"Good point," he said. Then, nodding solemnly at his uncle, he expressed his appreciation for that which had unwittingly helped him to come to terms with the Sorting Hat's choice. "Thanks, Sirius."

* * *

It had been _hours_ since Dobby had arrived with Arcturus' message, and Harry was becoming increasingly restless.  
"Harry, what is _up_ with you?" said Hermione in exasperation, slamming her book closed and levelling a glare at the boy who looked about ready to leap from his chair at any given moment. "We're supposed to be studying for Charms... Professor Flitwick is going to test us on Monday, remember?"

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, I don't see why I just can't go _visit_!" blurted Harry, closing his own neglected text and burying his head in his hands, a frustrated scowl on his face. "No one's even telling me what's going on! I get dragged back to the school before Arcturus got back, and now he's suddenly up and about and giving House Elves messages for me... why do I feel like they are keeping something from me?"

"I dunno, mate," said Ron, making a face. "Maybe you're just going a bit mental from being inside so long. Let's go for a fly..."

"Oh shut up Ronald! Flying doesn't solve everything!" snapped Hermione, before favouring Harry with a sympathetic look. "I am sure Sirius would have contacted you had he had the chance. He was probably just really worried about Arcturus. From what you told us of that battle, you were all extremely lucky to get out of there alive."

"I don't need another lecture, Hermione," said Harry darkly, his gaze hardening as he recalled the sight of Alyssa falling, and the look that had come over Arcturus' face immediately thereafter. "And I'll have you remember that not all of us did get out of there alive."

Realising, then, that her best friend was probably still a little shaken by the death he had so recently witnessed, Hermione reached out to touch his hand tentatively.  
"Perhaps you should go speak to somebody about that," she said quietly, holding back her baser urge to chew the boy's ear off for even leaving the school in the first place. "Maybe it _was_ a bad idea to send you back here. I know Professor McGonagall seemed to think that returning to your schoolwork would be a welcome distraction, but it's clearly not working. Do you think you would be handling things better if you were able to work through things with Arcturus? Perhaps you should go upstairs and see some of the Durmstrang students who were there with you..."

Jerking his hand away and scowling at his friend's attempt to psycho-analyse his needs, Harry shook his head violently.  
"I'm _fine_," he snapped, fury flaming in his eyes. "Death is no stranger, I don't need you to shrink my head about what I saw, all right? I just want to know what's going on! I think I've earned that much!"

At her friend's rebuke, Hermione pursed her lips into a thin line.  
"I understand that, Harry, but you _did_ break about a million school rules when you left like that, not to mention turn a blind eye to all the dangers that pertain to you specifically," said Hermione in a chastising tone. "You can't blame people for then thinking that you're not ready for the responsibility..."

Hermione's nagging was abruptly cut off by the scraping of chairs, Harry storming to his feet and slamming his books into his bag in disgust.  
"Shut up, Hermione," he spat. "Just once, could you not channel McGonagall and be my friend first? I don't need you telling me that it's my own fault that I'm kept in the dark! _Maybe_ if I knew why the hell I'm so bloody important, I'd be able to accept it and settle down, and concentrate on the 'important' things like my fricking _Charms_!"

Tears prickling in her eyes, Hermione stood rigidly and forced herself to hold it together.  
"Well I am sorry, Harry Potter, that I do not simply tell you what you want to hear!" she said coolly. "If that's the kind of friends you want then you're looking in the wrong house!"

Both boys were incapable of doing anything but watch as Hermione _abandoned_ her books and all but run from the common room. His anger sapping from him as he realised he had rather unfairly directed his frustrations unto his friend, Harry deflated and leant against the table wearily.

"You've done it now, mate," said Ron, looking as though he had just swallowed a lemon drop whole as he looked between Harry and the direction the other third of their trio had fled.

Scoffing at Ron's insightfulness, Harry shoved the taller boy playfully and shook his head.  
"Oh and you're just such a wordsmith!" he teased his friend. Thinking, then, of his prized Firebolt upstairs and remembering Ron's suggestion, he swept up his book bag and shot the lanky redhead a wry grin. "C'mon, let's go for a fly..."

His ego bolstered by his friend's compliance, Ron grinned broadly and rushed to collect both his and Hermione's things from the study table.  
"See! I was right, wasn't I? Flying is _far_ more distracting that studying for some test!" said Ron indignantly. Pausing to deposit Hermione's books with his sister – Gryffindor boys being unable to enter the girl's dormitories – he bolted up the stairs behind his best friend. "I knew Hermione didn't know everything!"

As much as Harry wanted to scold Ron and tell him not to set about rubbing salt in the absent girl's wounds, he could not help but acknowledge that his friend was right.

* * *

Esmerelda Bane could not remember a time when she had ever felt so furious. Half a day. Almost _half a day_ Black had been outside of the wards that meddling old wizard had placed around the man's hideaway, preventing her from calling upon the link she now shared with the kin of her chosen. She'd known the moment he'd Disapparated – Arcturus in tow, no less – but had been powerless to act. Either the boy's interfering uncle had brushed up on his Occlumency or Arcturus had cleverly dosed the man with a Calming Draught; a potion that not only had the fortunate side effect of clearing one's head naturally but, when combined with a drop of Holy Water, particularly effective in protecting the drinker from being manipulated by the undead.

'_Damn that boy to hell, I taught him too well_!' Esmerelda admonished herself once more for letting him slip through his fingers. After events on the balcony, she couldn't really blame Arcturus for taking such measures. Yes, she had intended for that mongrel mage to die, but she had never intended to implicate herself in the girl's death. When she had called upon the shadow of a link between herself and the boy to track the location of the fabled Club, she had resolved not to attend... to frame Voldemort's Death Eaters for the deed in an effort to reinforce the danger the Dark wizard posed and draw Arcturus back to her side. But the allure of just being _near_ the boy drew her out, and once she saw him in action, fighting his way through the throng of Death Eaters like the true warrior she had shaped him to be, she could not help but make herself seen.

And heard.

Looking back, Esmerelda knew that a lot of what she had said to Arcturus was too much for him to handle - her words far too telling of her own needs and the lengths she was prepared to go to – to ever win her any favours. But the scent of his blood had made her heady, and it had taken all of her resolve to stop herself from tasting him again. She could not help what she said, for the boy's mere presence seeped into her soul like poison, drawing the harsh truth from her.

Confronted, then, with the realisation that Arcturus had now been presented with her true self, and was repulsed by it, Esmerelda now found herself at a loss. She had hoped to Turn the boy willingly, but it appeared that the opportunity for that had come and gone. It made her feel surprisingly dirty for resorting to turn to the child's enemy to achieve her means, but if their brewing plans came into fruition, it would not matter in the end.

Alone in her ancient crypt, she inhaled slowly and deeply as she sank into the boy's favoured chair. For over a decade, no one but he had been permitted to sit in that chair, and if she concentrated hard enough she could still smell him. Allowing herself to become consumed by the lingering embrace of Arcturus' scent, Esmerelda prepared herself for the chase.  
"You will be mine," she whispered lowly, picturing the face of her chosen in her mind.

* * *

Sirius flinched, an unidentified image flashing through his mind. His eyes scanned the increasingly crowded kitchen and settled on Arcturus, almost instinctively. Whereas a moment ago the boy had been absorbed in his notes, seeing to last minute preparations for his presentation, Sirius was startled to find his nephew watching him intently through narrowed eyes. He stood as the boy stood, Arcturus beckoning him towards the small potions side room and excusing them both from the table.  
"You can't leave now, we're just about to start!" the witch closest to Arcturus called out, clearly not a fan of being pulled out of her routine to participate in a meeting called by a teenager. "We're all here to listen to what you apparently have to say!"

"And you can all wait a moment longer," growled Arcturus, forgoing formalities. "This can't wait."

Without waiting to see the woman's look of indignation, Arcturus all but pushed his uncle in to the privacy of the small side room and placed a small vial in his hand.  
"Drink," he ordered insistently, one eye keeping an eye on his notes on the table, through the open doorway; their privacy assured by a Non-Verbal charm or two.

"What is this? More Calming Draught?" hissed Sirius quietly, refusing to consume the liquid. "I don't need any more Calming Draught-"

"Or so you think," said Arcturus with a grim expression. "Drink. It will _clear your mind_; what, since you are so incapable of doing it without assistance... oh don't look at me like that, do you really suppose I was keeping you medicated at the Ministry for Scrimgeour's benefit? Use your head!"

Blinking rapidly as the implications of his nephew's words hit home, Sirius gripped the vial firmly and frowned.  
"But she can't get into my head here, remember? Dumbledore said..."

"Albus Dumbledore is as Light as they come. He doesn't know what he is talking about," declared Arcturus, nudging at the vial in his uncle's hand. "I felt her just now, when you flinched. She's either trying really hard to reach me, or she's not even aware that she's channeling – when I had the Token we could detect each other's strongest emotions. My guess is she's just seen the _Evening Prophet_ and is having a stew, but I'd rather not be distracted right now, so unless you have some latent Occlumency ability you're holding out on, I really must urge you to drink..."

His mouth suddenly dry, Sirius averted his gaze and stared into the innocuous vial in confusion.  
"But it's only Calming Draught," he said slowly, Potions never really having been his forte.

"Mixed with a dash of Holy Water," added Arcturus as though it were an obvious solution. "Particularly effective against protecting one's mind from Vampires. Esme never stood for me interacting with the Vampires at the school without a dose; she was paranoid about the competition. Ironic, huh?"

Sharing in his nephew's smirk, Sirius toasted the vial in a silent salute and administered the requested dose. Then, setting aside the empty vial on the nearest counter, he braced a hand on his nephew's shoulder and steered him out back into the kitchen.  
"I'll discuss this with Albus after the meeting and see about learning Occlumency for real, all right?" Sirius leaned down close to Arcturus' ear and whispered as he led the boy back to his chair, before rounding the table to reclaim his own.

Upon seeing that their two hosts had assumed their respective seats, Albus Dumbledore stood and beckoned for quiet. It had been some time since the entire Order had met for a meeting, let alone turned out in such numbers at such short notice. Seeing all eyes on the youngest person in the room, some having a harder time of hiding their curiosity than others, the wise old wizard decided to play but a very small role in the coming agenda.  
"Welcome, welcome, everybody!" he said in a loud, congenial tone. "On behalf of our hosts I would like to thank you all for coming on such short notice."  
He looked at Arcturus, his eyes twinkling with curiosity of his own.  
"Suffice to say I am as curious as the rest of you, so without further ado will turn the chair over to he who requested this meeting... Arcturus?"

Standing and waiting even before Dumbledore had even completed his mockery of an introduction – though he supposed that by the number of _Evening Prophet_s scattered across the table he needed no introduction – Arcturus straightened his notes one last time before giving a short bow.  
"Good evening," he said, steeling himself for a night full of questions and debate.

* * *

Dinner had already started by the time Harry and Ron had tired themselves racing laps around the Quidditch Pitch. If not for the dim light of dusk and the rumbling of tummies they could have gone on flying until curfew, the feeling of wind running in their faces chasing away their respective demons. No sooner had they landed and slung their brooms over their shoulders for the easy walk back to the school, the sound and smells of the Great Hall just lingering on the peripheral of their senses and urging them forward, were they approached by a group of well-built boys in matching tunics.  
"You fly well, Potter," the sandy-haired wizard Harry recognised as Michael Kirsch, Arcturus' deputy, stepped forward. "I can see why Arcturus likes you."

Exchanging an awkward look with Ron, Harry did not quite know how to respond.  
"You did a good job last week," the wizard closest to Kirsch praised him with a short nod. "Keep working with Arcturus and flying like that and you'll give new definition to the phrase 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

"Uh thanks, I guess," said Harry awkwardly, feeling markedly out of his element amongst Arcturus' peers when the older boy was not present. Seizing the opportunity to ask after the absent teen, he adjusted his hold on his broom and straightened to his full height. "Speaking of Arcturus, have any of you heard anything about when he's coming back?"

Kirsch swapped a look with the other wizard who had spoken, both teens evidently surprised that the younger boy did not possess the information for himself, from practically being a member of the Black family.  
"No," said Kirsch, pulling a roll of parchment from his robes and holding it casually at his side. "But I have a feeling he'll be back within days, now he's accomplished his goal... take a look."

Harry accepted the late edition of the magical newspaper warily and perused the breaking headline with surprise.

**Convict Black Given Full Pardon. Long Lost Nephew Presents Key Evidence.**

His eyes frantically scanning the article, hungry for information, Harry's hands gripped the edges of the page as his mind spun with conflicting emotions. On the forefront, he was overjoyed to see that Sirius was finally free, but feeling as though he was the last person to discover the news, he could not help but feel a little hurt. Absently noting that Arcturus was no longer wanted for questioning in any 'ongoing investigation', Harry carefully re-rolled the parchment and handed it back to Kirsch.  
"Yeah, guess he'll be back soon," he said, feigning disinterest, when really he was breaking inside.

Seeing much more than he let on, Kirsch accepted the newspaper and nodded in silent understanding. Pausing as he passed by the conflicted teenager, he leaned in slightly and cleared his throat.  
"Keep your chin up, Potter," he advised in a low tone. "Try and consider the traits of your house before taking things to heart."

Staring in confusion at the backs of the Durmstrang boys as they walked away, Harry could only gape at the taller boy's cryptic statement.  
"Consider the traits of our house?" he said to no-one in particular, shaking his head.

"Brave, loyal and just a little bit rash?" quipped Ron, repeating the words he had heard his parents use to describe the house his family had been in for generations. He shrugged and tilted his head in the direction of the departing students. "What of it?"

Ron's description rolling around in Harry's mind, the parting words of the illusive Durmstrang student began to make some sense. Nodding once in unseen thanks, Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and offered his friend a small smile.  
"Last one to the Great Hall is a bouncing ferret!" he threatened, taking off at a run.

Spluttering in both surprise and indignation, Ron stumbled over his feet in his haste and took off after his friend, his longer legs quick to gain him some ground.

* * *

"All right, what is your plan?" said Sirius once the meeting was over, the pair again finding themselves alone in the once grand study. At Arcturus' innocent look, the perceptive Animagus shook his head. "Oh no, I am not falling for that look. You are up to something. It's not like you to simply hand over control to others – especially not to a bunch of wizards who have a track record of looking down their noses at you."

Toying with the journal he still held in his hands, Arcturus favoured his uncle with a coy look.  
"Who said I was relinquishing control?" he said casually, forgoing the urge to question how well the man before him could claim to know him at all. He tucked the spine of the journal into the side of the over-stuffed armchair he favoured and leaned forward in his seat, looking at his uncle intently. "I was merely ridding myself of a burden I no longer wished to carry in favour of giving myself time to concentrate on more important endeavours."

His eyes narrowed sceptically, Sirius was not buying into his nephew's apparent nonchalance.  
"What could suddenly be so important, that you would allow the Order to take credit for your haul?" said Sirius, frowning. "It's your father's journal, isn't it? You're witholding the details of the remaining Horcruxes and are going to go after them yourself, aren't you?"

Arcturus' hand twitched, instinctively making a grab for the book in question. Stopping ahead of himself, he frowned and shook his head.  
"Don't get me wrong, there is plenty in my father's journal that I have decided not to disclose at this time," said Acturus silkily. "But you can rest assured that I have no further ambition to retrieve any more Horcruxes... asides from the ring I am set to retrieve from Igor once your people determine a way to destroy it. No, my place is at Hogwarts."

The edges of Sirius' mouth turned up into a wry smile and he fought to hide his glee.  
"Ye ol' place having an effect on you, eh?" he quipped, winking at the boy. "See, I told you it would only be a matter of time before the place grew on you-"

Arcturus cut his uncle off with a glare.  
"It has done nothing of the sort," he snapped, missing, as always, the unique structure of Durmstrang. His blood boiled at the thought of his beloved alma mater being under the thumb of an active Death Eater. He shook the darkening thoughts from his mind. "I am simply needed at the school."

Thinking of the rather fierce loyalty the members of Arcturus' Squadron had for each other, Sirius nodded in what he thought was understanding.  
"Yes, good thing your Squadron all decided to follow you over... certainly made my job a lot easier," admitted Sirius frankly, not wanting to think of how difficult it would have been to keep the boy content at his new school if he had left his peers behind at Durmstrang.

Arcturus looked at him as though he had just spouted tentacles.  
"My Squadron are quite capable of taking care of themselves," he informed his uncle with a hint of indignation. "_Your godson_, on the other hand, needs all the help he can get and I am not about to turn a blind eye to the fact that I am in a distinct advantage to be able to assist him."

Taking a moment for the implication of his nephew's words to sink in, Sirius was gobsmacked.  
"You want to help Harry?" he asked in bewilderment. "Why?"

Carefully placing his hands in his lap – as though he were somehow compelled to restrain himself from physically lashing out – Arcturus set his jaw into a hard line and narrowed his eyes.  
"Why not?" he said coolly. "Besides the fact he is your godson, and as much as my brother accordingly, the wizarding world has pinned all their hopes on him, have they not?"  
He raised a brow at Sirius' silence, taking it as an admission.  
"I want to help him reach his potential."

Sirius furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of his nephew's motives.  
"That's rather, er... well..."

"What, _Gryffindor_? _Slytherin_?" offered Arcturis distastefully, cutting in. "Honestly, must everything be measured by houses? I did it because he needs the help, yes, but I also did it because I want to fight on the winning side and if Harry's the one destined to lead, then he has to bloody well know how!"

Rubbing the growing stubble on his chin in consideration, Sirius nodded slowly.  
"Are you aware that you have a knack for deciding things with a twin blade?" said Sirius, grinning lopsidedly as he was reminded distinctly of his father yet again. Telling the boy as such, he was heartened to see a glimmer of feeling flash in the teen's eyes. His expression quickly turning serious, the older wizard regarded Arcturus with a grateful look. "Thank you."

'_Don't thank me_,' Arcturus had wanted to say, ill accustomed to receiving gratitude for his actions, but at the same time keen to retain the illusion of a favour owed. Instead, he decided to acknowledge his uncle's appreciation by resolving to give the man something in return. Announcing his intention to return to Hogwarts, he summoned his things and, with minimal fanfare, found himself standing in front of the fireplace, Sirius in front of him. Dobby already en route with his trunk, both wizards were empty-handed as they regarded each other for possibly the last time until Christmas.  
"Are you certain you have everything? You're quite welcome to stay on an extra couple of days, to rest..." said Sirius nervously, one hand stretched out at arm's length and gripping his nephew's shoulder.

Rolling his eyes at the man's persistence to get him to stay, Arcturus rolled his eyes.  
"I really must return to my studies," he said levelly, though he was rather touched that he now had someone out there who cared about his wellbeing. He reached up and squeezed the hand on his shoulder, prying it from its hold loosely, but not quite letting go.

Shaking the hand in his firmly before stepping away and drawing his wand, Arcturus turned his attention to his grandfather's hidden cabinet, wordlessly unlocking it from afar before returning his wand to its sheath and stepping towards the fireplace once more. Meeting his uncle's eyes as the man looked to him in question, Arcturus nodded once in confirmation.  
"Some of the details in my father's journal I will always keep secret in honour of his memory," he explained. "But that which I may care to hide from you, I will not keep locked in a Pensieve. I share it with you now because it was your father's and if what you said were true, he would want you to use it. I trust you to use your utmost discretion if viewing any of the stored contents, but beseech upon you to utilise it in your studies of Occlumency. Expect an owl with a booklist of titles from this collection that will assist you to protect your mind against Esmerelda's intrusions."

Taken aback by his nephew's unprecedented gesture, Sirius jerked forward and engulfed the wiry teen in a bone crushing embrace.  
"Thank you," gushed Sirius, thanking the teen not just for the help, but also the gift of trust he had just received. Stepping back and holding the boy at arm's length, he searched his nephew's face for any sign of reconsideration. "You won't regret this, I promise! I won't give you reason not to trust me, I swear! No one will even know I have access to it!"

Seeing no point for words – Arcturus never being one to articulate heartfelt sentiments – he nodded once and reached for the Floo Powder. If Sirius were to have stopped him from stepping into the flames and asked him why he had unlocked the cabinet, Arcturus would have told the man that he was simply keeping a promise he'd made Harry.

At least that's what Arcturus was telling himself as he stepped into the flames and began to question his own motives.


	22. Loose Ends

**Disclaimer: It all belongs to the woman in the big house and more money than the Queen...**

**Updated: Friday, August 22 (rather a bit like penance...)**

**Chapter 22: Loose Ends**

"Mr Black! Why aren't you reading with the rest of the class?" the shrill voice of Hogwarts' latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher rang out across the room.

Arcturus glanced down at the empty desk before him nonchalantly and cocked a brow at the Ministry's mole. With no qualified Defence teacher having made the journey across the Channel to join the ousted Durmstrang students at Hogwarts, Umbridge's mockery of a class was one the transferred pupils shared with their gracious hosts. Given that Arcturus' Squadron, and a few older exchange students aside, worked to tutor their peers in the practical elements of defence both before and after structured classes, the misplaced alumni largely used the Ministry-sanctioned lesson time to taking notes for other classes or preparing strategies for their regular skirmishes. Smirking inwardly at the ease it which this woman's buttons could be pushed, Arcturus leered slightly as he offered his explanation.  
"I am not reading, Professor Umbridge, because I have yet to see returned the book you confiscated from me last lesson," said Arcturus in a innocent falsetto.

As predicted, Umbridge's face turned the same colour as her cardigan within seconds, and she was storming down the aisle towards him like the raging bull she resembled.  
"_That book_ was not on the approved booklist! Nor is a copy available in either section of the school library, or in fact any bookstore in the United Kingdom – I checked!" said Professor Umbridge in an increasingly high-pitched screech.

Narrowing his eyes in contempt at the woman, Arcturus inwardly rejoiced for the witch having taken his bait.  
"Oh, so you do realise that the book is an extremely rare tome and quite precious to my family's collection?" said Arcturus in a firm tone. "Pray tell why you haven't, then, simply returned the book to my uncle? I can appreciate your concern about such material circulating around a school, after all, but you must realise that withholding such an item from its owner is akin to stealing."

Leaning over his desk menacingly, nostrils flaring, Dolores Umbridge was positively snarling at her most infuriatingly untouchable student. Great controversy had run through the school earlier in that week, after Arcturus had sought to have the book the resident Defence Professor had confiscated returned to his family's library. Umbridge had been quick to issue a government-sanctioned Decree making the return of confiscated goods 'at the Ministry's discretion'. The highly-contentious issue, then, of whether or not such a ruling could legally apply to student property seized _prior_ to its implementation was currently before the school's Board of Governors; many of whom had children with a vested interest in the ruling.  
"That is for the Board of Governors to decide," spat the woman, spittle dotting her chin.

Making a show of wiping the spray of saliva from his face with a silken handkerchief – which he then promptly incinerated inches from the woman's frazzled hair in the hope of accidentally setting it alight – Arcturus remained calm. At that very moment, the Weasley twins ought to be in the middle of breaking into the woman's office and replacing her stash of 'contraband' goods with Transfigured imitations. With any luck, it would take the woman a few days to realise the switch, upon which time Arcturus could call upon his entire class to verify his intentions to see the book returned by official means, as per his current display.  
"I suggest you tread carefully when exploiting your Ministerial ties before the Board of Governors, Professor Umbridge," said Arcturus politely, though his tone left little room for argument. "Government Administrations come and go, but the honour of being on the Hogwarts Board is a birthright. A Governor's first allegiance will always be to the school and its students, and I am sure I needn't remind you whom the pupils of this fine establishment represent in terms of the future."

Dolores Umbridge positively glowered at the veiled threat, but could do nothing but glare. The Black family had played a prominent role in the school's governance since before Phineas Nigellus had been appointed its headmaster, and it was no secret that the Board were now clamouring to draw the now exonerated Black patriarch back to his rightful place at their table. Forcing a smile at the teenager who, as a student of Durmstrang, she could not issue any control over outside of this one lesson, she spoke through gritted teeth.  
"Be that as it may, Mr Black," she said with a gleam of triumph in her eyes. "You are not reading the _prescribed_ text with the rest of the class. Detention, tonight in my office, and 15 points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

Waiting until the woman had returned to her desk, Arcturus raised his hand, still having made no move to retrieve the vastly inferior school text from his book bag. Taking the woman's grunt and glare combination as permission to speak, Arcturus lowered his hand and sat up straight.  
"Forgive me, Professor, but I see no point in reading a book I have already read," said Arcturus simply. All right, so he may not have read that particular book all the way through, but the theory within was so pathetically basic it would be the assumed knowledge of any magically-raised 11 year old enrolling at Durmstrang. "If I cannot read a text of my choosing, could I perhaps start on the sixth year curriculum? I do aspire to be just like my great-grandfather. He was the longest serving Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has ever seen, you know. No one has lasted any longer than a year in the position in his wake..."  
He paused dramatically, as though only just realising something.  
"But oh, I am sure you will be an exception, Professor!"

Arcturus could hear the poor woman's teeth grinding from all the way over the other side of the room. There had been a marked lack of pages turning since their confrontation had begun, the students keeping their heads bowed over their work unseeingly, ears pricked.  
"Very well then, Mr Black, make that another five points from Gryffindor," said Professor Umbridge coolly. "Now since you insist on not reading with the rest of the class, you can write a three foot essay on the key points of the text. Whatever you do not finish in class you may complete tonight in Detention, understood?"  
Waiting, then, for the boy to retrieve the textbook to draw referenes from, she frowned when the teenager simply pulled out some parchment and began to write from memory.

His face bent over his parchment, hidden from the woman's view, Arcturus allowed a victorious smirk to play across his features. Writing furiously, he spent the remainder of his lesson writing not the ordered essay, but rather a letter to his estranged cousin; the requested three feet Umbridge wanted by the end of detention that evening easily avoided with the proposal he was presently drafting.

* * *

"Are you crazy? Stop baiting her – you're going to cost us the House Cup!" said Harry incredulously as they sat down in the Great Hall for lunch later that day. Though the Durmstrang students had their own table and habitually shared the morning and evening meals together, many of the students chose to eat lunch with their adopted houses, Arcturus being no exception.

"Relax, I can earn those points back threefold by the end of the day, and you know it," said Arcturus dismissively, reaching for a bread roll.

Across from them, Hermione scowled something under her breath and shook her head into her plate in disapproval. It was little secret that the visiting Durmstrang teachers held little stock in the 'ceremonious' house competition and would issue their students with points upon request.  
"You're defeating the purpose of even having a competition," she whined. "The points system is supposed to promote-"

"Oh give it a rest, Granger! It's not like your teachers don't exploit the system to suit their own means!" snapped Arcturus in his own defence, quick to remind the girl how the likes of Snape favouring his house and Umbridge using points as a power play equally skewed the deserved allocation of points. "Besides, it's not like my Durmstrang Masters are giving out points without due cause – only in cases where we feel as though points were unfairly removed or otherwise denied."

Demonstrably silenced by the older boy's words and the glares she got from her two friends, Hermione scowled indignantly but said nothing more; methodically retrieving a book from her bag and proceeding to read as she ate. Shifting his attention to his own food, Ron tore a piece of meat off his leg of chicken before waving the drumstick at Arcturus.  
"Yeah, but mate…" scoffed Ron through a mouthful of food. "A detention with Umbridge?"

"Not to forget the three foot essay on the most boring Defence book in history!" added Harry, shooting his godfather's nephew a sympathetic look.

Smirking around his glass of Pumpkin Juice, Arcturus shrugged.  
"Who said anything about me doing a three foot essay?" he said with a false air of innocence. "I've no intentions of serving detention with Umbridge."

"But it's been assigned! Not even Durmstrang students can skip out on a detention!" said Hermione, looking up from her books and making it apparent to all that she was not truly reading.

"No, but they can respectfully request that it be re-assigned to another teacher," said Arcturus slowly, grinning victoriously.

"But Umbridge will have to go along with it!" spluttered Harry. "There's no way she would consent for you to serve detention with one of your Durmstrang Masters, because she knows they'll go easy on you if they feel the detention was unjustly given."

"Besides, she never re-assigns her detentions, unless it's to Filch or Snape," added Ron, shaking his drumstick so hard that bits of meat broke off and flew across the table.

Making a show of cleaning up Ron's mess, Harry suddenly froze, his wand poised and Banishing Charm dying on his lips as realisation hit.  
"You didn't!" he exclaimed, gaping at Arcturus. "Are you _crazy_?"

"You've already asked me that," said Arcturus, rolling his eyes. Nonchalantly flicking a piece of Ron's lunch off the corner of his plate, he went in for the kill. "In any event, detention with Snape'll be far more productive than writing some poxy essay."

Ron, who was in the middle of taking a large draught from his goblet, sprayed a mouthful of Pumpkin Juice across the table, causing Hermione to leap up and start shrieking as her books found themselves in the line of fire.  
"You're volunteering to serve detention with Snape?" he gaped, ignoring Hermione's cries of protest. "You're not crazy, mate... you're barking mad!"

Harry could only stare at the taller dark-haired boy in disbelief.  
"He'll never go for it," he said finally, shaking his head. "If he knows you actually prefer a detention with him over one with Umbridge… no way."

"Oh, I think I've made it worth his while," said Arcturus loftily, nudging his head in the direction of the head table, where sure enough Snape was glancing over a piece of correspondence thoughtfully.

"I didn't see him get an Owl," said Hermione lowly, inwardly suspecting that Arcturus had called upon a House Elf to run his errand for him.

"That's because I used my elf," said Arcturus simply, taking perverse pleasure in baiting the altruistic Gryffindor girl.

"Is that why you called him?" said Harry, eyes wide. "I thought you said you'd written a letter to Sirius!"

"Yes, though I also had a letter for Sirius," said Arcturus distractedly, his gaze shifting up towards the head table, where he could better gauge his distant cousin's reaction to his proposal. When he saw the man lean over and mutter something to the woman next to him, before meeting his eye and nodding slightly at him, Arcturus inclined his head in acknowledgement and returned his attention to his lunch, a victorious smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You're definitely crazy," Harry observed, looking from his despised Potions Master to his newest housemate and putting the pieces together for himself.

Next to him, Ron was reaching the same conclusions.  
"Actually preferring a detention with Snape… mental. Absolutely bleeding mental…" he mumbled into his plate, shaking his head.

* * *

"Clean those cauldrons without magic," said Snape, without looking up from the pile of parchments on his desk as Arcturus let himself into the classroom later that evening.

Rolling his eyes, Arcturus flicked his wand in the direction of the first years' cauldrons and sent a wordless cleaning spell at them before the Potions Master could look up from his work.  
"Oh come now, Severus, without magic?" said Arcturus languidly, leaning against the cleaning bench and folding his arms across his chest in a decidedly Snape-esque fashion. "Doing things the Muggle way is for people who don't have anything else better to do with their time. I am sure you can be more creative than that!"

"That will be _Professor Snape_, to you, and you _will clean those cauldrons without magic_!" said Snape menacingly, rising from his chair and leaning across his desk, his weight bearing down on his knuckles.

Arcturus pretended to inspect the pile of cauldrons.  
"But they are clean, _Severus_," said Arcturus. At his cousin's glare, he sighed in exasperation. "Oh _come on_, Snape! I pay you the due respect in class, do not expect me to do the same when we are in private!"

Conceding that the battle to have the boy address him by his professional title was a lost cause, Severus rounded his table and stormed towards the pile of cauldrons. Upon noticing their pristine state, he fumed silently and spun around to face the disobedient teenager.  
"Hand over your wand!" he snapped, leaning so close to the boy who was heir to all that should have been his, that his breath made the hair on the boy's fringe flutter.

"No," said Arcturus slowly, with a tone of petulant defiance. He made no attempt to back away. "I will not deny that I just cleaned the cauldrons with magic; you have no need for my wand. Now come on... challenge me! Duel me! Have me replenish Pomfrey's stores for hospital wing! Teach me something other than the remedial drivel you've resigned yourself to assigning the idiots this school is full of! Make it as unpleasant and torturous as a detention should be, but for the love of hades don't waste my time."

"I do not know how they do things at Durmstrang, boy, but here it is the teacher who assigns the tasks for detentions!" snapped Severus, rapidly losing his patience.

"Then I shall leave and come back in and we can start over and pretend it was all your idea!" suggested Arcturus smarmily, side stepping around the overbearing Potions Master and making to leave the room.

Grabbing the boy's arm before he could pass, Severus stopped the teen in his tracks.  
"You will prepare the ingredients for _all _of tomorrow's classes," said Severus in a deadly whisper, giving the arm in his grip a tight squeeze and a shake before pushing the boy away and taking a step back. "And if you say another word, I will make it a week worth of detentions for insubordination."

"No, sorry, not good enough," said Arcturus nonchalantly. "I won't do it. Give me something challenging to do, else I will go serve Umbridge her precious scroll of nonsense and get it over with."  
Raising his chin in defiance, he narrowed his eyes at his cousin and continued.  
"I assure you that just being in your company is unpleasant enough to meet your sadistic little requirements for a successful detention... forgive me for endeavouring to actually compensate you for your time."

"What, by being an arrogant, disobedient little brat?" snarled Severus, feeling increasingly ill at ease when it became apparent that he could not intimidate his younger cousin. Even though he held no favour towards the boy for being related to him, it had stung somewhat to have the teen devalue his presence. He didn't know, then, whether to prove his estranged cousin right by continuing the battle, or attempt to destabilise the teen by conceding defeat. As much as he was loathe to admit it, the boy's observations held some merit. Irrespective of whether or not Umbridge's assigned detention had been deserved, the boy's skill behind a cauldron rivaled his own and he would be lying if he said that he didn't need the assistance keeping the infirmary stocked. Folding his arms across his chest, he pulled himself up to his full height and scowled at the too-clever-for-his-own-good teenager.  
"Very well, I will fetch you the list of potions required for the hospital wing and you will spend _the next week_ seeing to its replenishment."

"The next week..." Arcturus said without thinking, eyes wide with indignation.

"What part of '_if you say another word, I will make it a week of detentions_' did you not understand, Mr Black?" said Severus, smiling evilly. "You may think you have won this battle, but I will not tolerate disobedience. Trust me, you will be wishing you had shut up and cleaned those cauldrons before the week is through."

"But I did clean those cauldrons, Severus," said Arcturus slowly, turning away from his cousin and heading towards the supply cupboard, lest the man saw his smirk. He was truly unperturbed by the idea of spending a week in the man's company; brewing potions a task he would always find meditative and enjoyable, regardless of what Snape may try to do to dissuade him.

* * *

Sirius couldn't sleep. Whatever he had expected to find in his father's Pensieve, it hadn't been what he saw. Not only did he get a more complete picture of his nephew – particularly the life the boy led before their first meeting – but the gift of the boy's trust infinitely increased in its value. The apparent hatred Arcturus had displayed towards him upon their first meeting now felt entirely justified, and the Animagus who'd thought he'd seen it all was left wondering just how the teen could have brought himself to seek ammends. Thinking, then, of how his nephew still regarded his maternal grandparents with contempt, he supposed the fact that he'd never read Regulus' letters – and the admission in his brother's diary that said that Regulus never expected them to be read – absolved him of a measure of guilt... ignorance being bliss. But after viewing but a selection of memories Arcturus kept sequestered in the Black family Pensieve, Sirius found himself at a complete loss.

"Are you all right, Padfoot?" the kind voice of Remus Lupin roused him from his troubled thoughts. The man settled down on the couch across from him and made himself comfortable. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Arcturus gave me access to my father's Pensieve before he left," said Sirius dryly, absently clenching his fist as he grasped for a glass that was nowhere in reach. He nodded towards the cabinet in question. "Kreacher was there the night Regulus died, did you know that? Regulus had leant the elf to Voldemort and died while trying to undo what his 'master' had Kreacher do… and then my Father, upon having his elf return without his son, demanded to be taken there, to retrieve Regulus from whatever hell he had resigned himself to…"

"Kreacher shared his memory of the events with Arcturus?" said Remus, surprised.

"On Regulus' instruction," said Sirius, with a strange expression. "Bloody git seemed to think dying was the better of the two options. He could have gotten away from those blasted Inferi if he tried… but he didn't even try, Moony! And that's what lasting memory Arcturus has of his father… I just don't get it."

"Perhaps your nephew knows, as your brother did, that removing himself from Voldemort's sights was safer for those he was trying to protect," said Remus speculatively. "With his father dead, the Dark Lord's interest in the family would have been lessened, and as horrible as this house is, there is no mistaking the safety of its walls-"

Sirius nodded distractedly, his shoulders slumping.  
"I know… but to think they called _me_ the Gryffindor of the family!" he said in disbelief. Remembering, then, the more troubling memories his nephew had left him in the Pensieve, he scrubbed at his face wearily and shook his head. "Merlin, Moony... the things that kid has been through... if I ever call my father spineless again, Hex me, will you?"

"What are you talking about, Sirius? There are other memories of your father in there? But he died shortly after Arcturus was born…" said Remus, brow furrowed in confusion.

"That's my point!" said Sirius exasperatedly, beginning to absently rub at the curse scar that faded to almost nothing when not in proximity to his nephew. "Seeing how my mother acted without Father there to mediate... let's just say I am seeing a few things in a whole different light..."

Remus shifted uncomfortably and glanced over at the cabinet in barely concealed curiosity.  
"Surely it can't have been that bad... Arcturus was still a boy when she died, was he not?" said Remus, ever trying to be the peace keeper.

"If anything, that wench Lucretia was worse!" Sirius spat lowly, shaking his head. He began to scratch at the skin of his hand in earnest. "No wonder Phineas took pity on the boy..."

"I wouldn't like for either of them to hear you call it that," said Remus, raising a brow in question. Upon noticing that Sirius was rubbing the skin of his hand raw, he darted forward and grabbed the man's wrist. "Sirius! What are you doing?"

Blinking in bewilderment as Remus leapt forward and stopped something Sirius was not even aware of doing, he stared at the angry red mark on his hand. Had he scratched just a moment longer, he would have drawn blood. Holding the hand up before his face to inspect the state of the scar Bane's Token had burned into his palm, he blew on the irritated skin soothingly and frowned.  
"Merlin, Moony... I didn't even realise," said Sirius quietly, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. The sight of the mark drawing his attentions to the vampire witch who had effectively stolen what little childhood the likes of his mother and aunt had been unable to squash from the boy alone, he scowled. "Don't even get me started on what that vampire bitch did! I don't think the poor kid realised just how much that _woman_ controlled his mind until the Token was gone... the things she did... Merlin... it's no wonder Arcturus is not in a hurry to rush back to her side now that he can think for himself. He must feel so betrayed... it's a miracle he could ever trust again..."

Struggling to keep up with his best friend's abstract thoughts, Remus placed a steadying hand on the babbling wizard's shoulder and squeezed encouragingly.  
"Anything you care to share, Padfoot?" he said invitingly, the promise of his discretion not needing to be spoken.

"How old were you when you got bit, Remus?" asked Sirius in a small voice.

"Nearly eight, if I remember correctly," said Remus just as quietly, not willing to let on just how vividly he recalled that night, and the days immediately thereafter.

Sirius shot his friend an apologetic look for having stirred up such painful memories and rubbed his jawline irritably.  
"He was the same age," he whispered, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "He can't have had that damned Token long... Bane was still trying to gain his trust. Mother must have just died, because he had left Grimmauld Place for days and there's no way the old girl would have stood for it..."  
Sirius' voice trailed off and he took a moment to steel himself.  
"Bane took him out into the middle of the forest, so that he could see an entire pack of werewolves transform," said Sirius, taking a deep breath. "I think she wanted him to accept that her Token would protect him... but he was utterly terrified..."

A pained look on his face, Remus could only nod in agreement.  
"I can't blame him," he said quietly, not trusting himself to say anymore as his friend's story evoked such powerful memories of his own life-changing experience. Suddenly, he felt remarkably remiss about not taking the time to get to know Sirius' nephew – he'd never thought it possible, but it appeared they would probably have a lot to talk about.

"He started crying and she slapped him," growled Sirius, a fierce tone of protectiveness inherent in his tone as he began to clench his fists angrily. "Forced him to watch as they all transformed, and then took him around the pack so each and every one of them could scent the boy."  
He pounded a fist into the arm of the couch and scowled in self-reproach as he lamented not being there for either Arcturus or Harry when they needed him.  
"It was clear the werewolves didn't like the hold Bane had over them... she was torturing them with Arcturus' fear and denying them the ability to feed upon it," said Sirius dispassionately, his mind lost in recollection as he recalled the vivid scents and feelings his own canine senses were sensitive to in the preserved memory. "I lost count of how many moons, Moony, but she kept doing it until he got over the fear. It's no wonder he had no qualms about strolling into the Ministry and talking his way out of an Azkaban sentence... Azkaban would be a walk in the park..."

"You can't mean that! He's just a boy..." said Remus, no stranger to the scars Azkaban had inflicted upon the friend before him.

"The kid's got more guts than I could ever have given him credit for," said Sirius with a hint of pride and awe. He shifted in his chair and relaxed slightly. "And I get the feeling I've only just hit the tip of the ice berg..."

The troubled man's musings of his nephew were interrupted by the arrival of the boy's owl. At Remus' look of surprise, Sirius shared the man's amazement and accepted the weighty scroll from the bird's talon.  
"He's been writing to me every few days since returning to school," said Sirius, still awed by the fact that his nephew made the time to write to him. He unrolled the meticulously scrolled parchment and let his eyes travel over the precise penmanship of his nephew whilst he explained to his friend. "He's been instructing me on ways to guard my mind from Bane, by making the most of the memories he left me to view. I'm not sure how it's supposed to work, exactly, but I'm learning how to recognise her influence..."

"By watching how Arcturus would act when he was under her control?" offered Remus when his friend's voice hitched and trailed off.

Sirius nodded, shooting his friend an apologetic look and gesturing towards the letter in his hand, indicating silently that he was going to take a moment out to read what his nephew had to say. Needing no explanation, Remus cut the distracted Animagus off with a dismissive wave and picked up the book he'd left on the sidetable the night before, content to continue his reading whilst the man across from him saw to his latest correspondence.

* * *

"Any news of the boy?" the hoarse hissing issuing from the mouth of the reborn Dark wizard was difficult for human ears to hear, but his intended audience had no trouble making out the words; the woman he had spent nearly half a century trying to find steadfastly proving to be unworthy of the wait. "Bane? What is your progress?"

"I have taught him too well," admitted Esmerelda in a tone that suggested that she viewed the Dark Lord as nothing less than a political equal. "My efforts are being blocked quite effectively."

The Dark Lord was not pleased to hear this, but he could not bring himself to let his disappointment be known; the nonchalance of the vampire witch unnerving him.  
"I thought you said the Token was removed against his will?" said Voldemort, his tone betraying his confusion. "That he would return to you at the first given opportunity?"

Esmerelda bowed her head, feigning remorse.  
"That was before Greyback killed the cub," she said bitterly, not all that upset about the death of the girl who had monopolised Arcturus' thoughts, but regretting making her presence known to Alyssa's avenger. "He resents that I did not save the girl."

"Could you have?" said Voldemort, leaning forward in his chair.

Raising her head slightly, Esmerelda was coy.  
"Perhaps," she shrugged. Deflecting attention away from her inaction, she scowled. "The boy disappoints me. He should know better than to lament that which cannot be changed. I suspect he is still adjusting to the free flow of teenaged emotions."

"You had kept them controlled prior to this?" said Voldemort, his interest piqued.

Esmerelda stalled, getting the feeling that she had just given too much away. Though she had aligned herself with Voldemort as a means to an end, she did not wish to see him profit from the allegience. She didn't have to meet Harry Potter, for instance, to recognise what the boy's legendary scar stood for, and it surprised her that the wizard who'd given it to him knew little of its potential. The two were linked as surely as she was now connected to Arcturus' fool uncle, and yet neither seemed consciously inclined to capitalise on the connection she had not hesitated to exploit in her own case.

Unfortunately, her split second of hesitation was all it took to get the wheels in the Dark Lord's mind to turn. To date, Esmerelda had been careful to give her new comrade the impression that, despite the removal of his Token, she still had a connection with the boy they both sought for different reasons. As far as the crafty vampire witch was concerned, the Dark Lord did not need to know that her Token had left a mark upon he who removed it, and that when she updated her new 'master' of her progress – or lack thereof - she was talking about Arcturus helping _Sirius_ Black block her influence.

"You are keeping something from me," said Voldemort, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Esmerelda knew that a foot wrong here could jeopardise her position in the Dark Lord's inner circle, and whilst that did not worry her in the long run, she'd rather not make an enemy of the Dark wizard whilst estranged from Arcturus. Pulling herself up to her full height, she considered what to tell the man.  
"We all have our secrets, _Tom_," she said silkily, making deliberate use of the name the wizard's _Muggle_ father had given him. "I'll keep yours if you let me keep mine..."

Red eyes flashed dangerously before dulling into a forced acceptance. It was no secret to Esmerelda that Riddle had sought audience with her for many years, and was now clamouring to keep it. Privately, she had observed the man's destruction throughout the first war with passing interest; though she could not quite imagine _how_ the wizard before her could ever have been as fearful as he was once perceived. Tom's Occlumency shields may be inpenetrable, but for one who knew where to look, the man held his insecurities on the cuff of his sleeve; the temptation was to not push his buttons and enjoy the show.

Moving on, Voldemort turned his attention towards a boy that vexed him even more than the illusive Arcturus Black... Harry Potter. As he relayed the news from his spy that revealed that the boy was dreaming of the prophecy, the Dark Lord was curious to see a flicker of surprise betray itself on the vampire's features. Filing the thought away for future reference, he announced his intention to try and manipulate the apparent bond, remaining completely unaware to the inspiration he had just provided to the woman across the room.


	23. Showdowns

**Disclaimer... Oh, in the span of an hour all the rules have changed and I am now master of the universe.**

**Not.**

**Updated: August 22, 2008**

**Chapter 23: Showdowns...**

Arcturus was on the warpath. When her attempts to discipline him during her classes failed to serve its purpose, Umbridge had turned her attention to his co-curricular schedule, issuing Educational Decrees at every turn to curb his movements. Now the wretched woman had taken measures to ensure that Durmstrang students 'exercised' out of view from 'impressionable Hogwarts students that may be influenced by the violent routine' it had become increasingly difficult to find the time and place in which to train. It was after sharing this latest dilemma to Harry – whom he owed explanation to since the boy had made habit of watching the early morning scrimmages and could now no longer attend – that the suggestion was made to form a secret Defence Association.

At first, part of Arcturus had rebuked against combining his Squadron with untrained Hogwarts students. But as wary as he was against delaying the progress of his own people, the complete inexperience of the Hogwarts student body was also of increasing concern. Resolving to continue working with his Squadron separate from the secret group's meetings, Arcturus prescribed the visiting Durmstrang alumni to the Defence Association and volunteered to propose a syllabus.

The structure Arcturus had hoped to implement in the covert student 'study' group was not dissimilar to the induction first year Durmstrang students received. His fellow classmates rolled their eyes at the simplicity, but none could deny it was necessary. After carefully auditing that which Harry had learned over his first four years of schooling, Arcturus had been relieved to note that the disguised Crouch and unassuming Lupin had provided their students with a surprisingly competent curriculum – it was just a pity that idiotic fools like Lockhart and Umbridge came either side.

That his uncle's aloof werewolf friend had once been a Defence professor was a fact that had totally escaped Arcturus' attention. If that wasn't surprising enough, the revelation that the man had taught Harry the Patronus Charm was enough to fill the eternal pessimist with a measure of hope, and he made a mental note to pick Lupin's brain for insight.

"What are you plotting?" the matter-of-fact tone of the squadron's second roused Arcturus from his thoughts.

"You say it like it's a question," drawled Arcturus, straightening in the comfortable armchair he favoured and casting his eyes around the long narrow Durmstrang commons before opting not to bother with a Impenetrable Charm.

"Why can't you just let the matter drop?" said Kirsch airily, dropping into an armchair beside him. He gesticulated widely. "Umbridge may have prevented us from training out in the open, but we have worked around that! Let us now focus our efforts into other areas... this new Defence Association, for instance..."

Arcturus nodded thoughtfully as he considered the advice of his deputy. Unlike the Hogwarts students inclined to banter amongst themselves and prescribe misleading acronyms to the secret society they now found themselves a part of, those from a Durmstrang background were conditioned to call it straight. As much as Arcturus could see merit in his friends' suggestion, however, the self-righteous part of him could not quite let it go. Seeing the taller boy's reluctance, Kirsch leaned forward in his chair and chuckled dryly.  
"Now this is why that Hat placed you in your uncle's house," said Kirsch with a small smile, shaking his head at Arcturus' scowl of indignation. His smile quickly fading into a frown, he narrowed his eyes at his leader. "Why this derison, Arcturus? Does Gryffindor House carry with it a stigma you cannot bear? I'm afraid I do not understand, I thought you had come to terms with your family's heritage and accepted the precedent your uncle and yourself have now set?"

Arcturus' eyes widened at his friends' perceptiveness and he scoured his mind for signs of having let his guard down. Remembering, though, that this was his second – his friend – he halted his efforts and accepted that there were just some things you could not keep from those closest to you.  
"My grandfather was a likely contender for Gryffindor, you know… had he attended this school," he said wistfully, a faraway look on his face. Snapping his attention back to his friend, he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Contrary to public perception, I do not have issue with the Sorting Hat's choice. I may still be trying to understand its decision, but I daresay it would be better than the alternative..."

Arcturus needn't say any more, it being common knowledge amongst his squadron that their leader would have faced a double adversity had he been placed in his father's house. To his credit, Kirsch nodded in understanding.  
"Has he approached you?" he asked in a low tone, suddenly wary against intruders.

Sensing his deputy's discomfort, Arcturus cast a quiet Impenetrable Charm and ducked his head conspiringly.  
"Who, Malfoy?" he said in an equally low tone. "No, he has not. He looks to have his suspicions, but the outcome of the Ministry's Coronial Inquest appear to have mollified him from acting out..."

Draco Malfoy had not been on the train on September first, and in fact did not return to school until Arcturus himself was sequestered within Grimmauld Place. Since then, the pale-haired teen had kept his distance; demonstrably wary of the teen who had been present at his father's 'accident'. But Arcturus held no misgivings of the Malfoy heir staying away indefinitely, and knew the time for confrontation was near.  
"I was thinking of meeting with him," said Arcturus thoughtfully, looking to his second for their thoughts. He propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his head in his hand, his deputy – and friend – one of few he relaxed around. "Clear the waters on my own terms."

"Are you sure that's wise?" said Kirsch levelly, leaning forward in his chair and adopting a similar pose casual ease. "Making issue of such things... it could be seen as an admission of guilt. Let him come to you."

"I have nothing to deny," said Arcturus with a shrug as he leant back in his chair and braced his hands over the edge of the over-stuffed armrests, flexing his fingers around its perimeter. "I _was_ involved... but not at fault. I don't expect Malfoy to accept that, but if I can lay my cards on the table and gauge his reaction I will be better placed to determine the threat."

Shaking his head, Kirsch muttered something in accented Bulgarian – German and English being his native tongue. Arcturus recognised the vulgar phrase immediately – the colloquialism commonly thrown about the changeroom of the Bulgarian Quidditch team, particularly after a player had done something both incredibly foolish, but effective.  
"Such words..." chuckled Arcturus, shaking his head in mirth. "Your mother would have a fit if she heard you using that language!"

Remembering the number of times his parents had disapproved of his friendship with Arcturus – the overly ambitious pair preferring their firstborn son to compete against the squadron leader and not settle for being second to his friend – Kirsch smirked.  
"My mother has but a passable grasp of my father's tongue, she wouldn't know Bulgarian if her life depended on it," he assured Arcturus smugly. Realising all too late how his friend could otherwise misinterpret what he had just said, he pulled a face. "Did that really come out as wrong as it sounded?"

"Only in your mind, my friend," said Arcturus, shaking his head at his friend's lewdness, everything about the slightly older teen somewhat driven by one-minded teenaged hormones. Quickly getting back down to business – a firm grasp of Occlumency quickly proving helpful in controlling the influx of his own unbalanced emotions – Arcturus' expression turned serious. "Come, now let us plan what we are going to do about Malfoy..."

* * *

Sirius set down his nephew's latest letter and smiled wistfully. Arcturus' notes were precise and clinical, but he didn't know how he ever went without the informative little missives. Between Arcturus' dutiful letters and the frequent chats Sirius shared with his godson through their mirrors, he truly began to feel like a part of the boys' lives. Today, the more meticulous of the two teens in his care confided in him the details of Hogwarts' latest offence against Dolores Umbridge's restrictions. Harry's earlier explanation had been rushed and lacking in detail, and Sirius found himself appreciating his nephew's subtle sense of humour; distantly reminded of some of the chats he and Regulus used to have in the years prior to their mother's influence driving them apart. Looking up from his silent chuckles of appreciation to see his best friend standing in the doorway, the uplifted Animagus remembered another scroll that had come with Arcturus' owl and beckoned the lithe werewolf over.  
"Just the man I was after," said Sirius with unbidden curiosity in his eyes. He thrust the sealed scroll towards the wisely suspicious wizard eagerly. "Look! You got one too! Come on, open it, open it – I am itching to know what he has to say to _you_!"

Remus faltered slightly before accepting the scroll, succumbing to curiosity of his own. Quirking his lips into a small smile, he recalled what happened last time someone tried to rifle through things Arcturus did not want them to see – the state of Ronald Weasley's face not easily forgotten.  
"Knowing your nephew, Padfoot, it wouldn't surprise me if you were left itching, had you tried to open it yourself," he said levelly.

Sirius beamed, finding the scenario entirely too possible. Gryffindor daring almost overtaking him, he jerked his hands as though to make a grab for the scroll now in his friend's firm grasp. Remembering what had happened to Ron, however, the slighty-more-wary Marauder stopped himself, but his smile did not diminish.  
"There's no mistaking he's one of the family, that's for sure!" he said proudly. He nodded towards the unopened letter and gestured urgently with a hand. "_Open it, Moony!_"

Taking a seat a safe distance away from his over-excited friend, Remus made himself comfortable and took his time breaking the distinctive wax seal. Unrolling the scroll with nimble fingers, he scanned his eyes across the unexpected correspondence. Feeling the steady gaze of grey eyes upon him, he looked up at Sirius smugly.  
"Have you paused to consider that maybe Arcturus does not want me to tell you what he's written here?" he deadpanned, raising a brow at his friend in question.

Frowning, Sirius reeled back in dismay at the suggestion, but then scowled when he saw the subtle glint in his best friend's eyes.  
"Why you!" he growled, leaning forward in his chair and looking as though he was about to pounce. "It does not say that! What _does_ it say? Let me see!"

Remus calming folded the parchment and placed it in the inside breast pocket of his faded muggle jacket, knowing it would drive Sirius insane. At the manic look on the other man's face, he relented and offered information.  
"Arcturus has commended me on the work I did during my time teaching," said Remus, a flush of colour rising in his cheeks at the praise. For the boy to draw such conclusions, the students he left behind must have spoken very highly of him indeed. "He has invited me to meet with him in Hogsmeade tomorrow night, to discuss the proposed syllabus for... a student Defence Association?"  
He looked over at his friend in question.  
"I don't recall any such society existing whilst I was teaching," he said with a frown. "From what I've heard about Umbridge, I daresay she wouldn't approve of the students teaching themselves..."

Now it was Sirius' turn to look smug – it appeared as though Arcturus had erred on the side of caution when informing the former Defence professor of his plans. Waving his own letter tauntingly, Sirius grinned cockily.  
"I know something you don't know..." he taunted in a sing-song voice. He held out his hand. "Trade you mine if you trade me yours..."

Knowing the founding Marauder too well to know that the man would not take no for an answer, Remus pulled out his letter and snatched the offered parchment in return. Nothing but the sound of rustling parchment filled the room for minutes afterwards, as the two men digested each other's correspondence from Arcturus. The first to finish, Sirius shook his head in mirth.  
"Well," he said figuratively. "That was very diplomatic of him."

"He's not that much more at ease with you," Remus pointed out, still reading the last few lines of the boy's letter. A smile tugging at his lips as he finished, he shot his friend a conspiring look. "You're right. There's no mistaking the relation – illegal Defence group indeed..."

Seeing the Marauding spark in his friend's eyes – the lanky wizard more capable of pranking than what his bookish nature showed – Sirius felt pity for his nephew.  
"What are you going to do?" he said knowingly. "You wouldn't be thinking of going all professorly on him now, would you? I don't think he will respond too kindly to that..."

Remus grinned wolfishly and then immediately feigned ignorance.  
"Trust me, Padfoot..." he said flatly, prompting the other man to do anything but.

* * *

"He feels guilty, you know," a woman's voice lulled Draco Malfoy into the shadows of the alleyway, distracting him from his goal. He had placed his people at strategic points around the school, covering the movements of his estranged cousin without actually tailing the perceptive teen. When news came to him of Arcturus Black leaving the school just before dinner, his efforts paid their dividend, and he had followed the older boy to Hogsmeade at a safe distance. Now, outside the notorious Hog's Head – a place even his mother would castrate him for visiting after dark, alone – Draco was considering whether or not to follow the seemingly gileless Black heir in, when the woman's voice had stopped him short.

"He feels guilty, even though he is not at fault," the woman, who from his vantage point Draco could still not see, continued in an almost sorrowful voice. "Yet you harbour such anger..."

Realising all at once just who the woman could be, and whom she was speaking of, Draco's hackles rose defensively and he drew his wand. The woman tutted at him mockingly.  
"You draw your wand!" she cooed, as though to say 'look at the little dragon, how cute he is in his indignation'. Her expression hardened as she moved into the moonlight, revealing her face to the silver-haired Malfoy heir for the first time. "Do you truly believe you would stand a chance against me, young Malfoy?"

"Esmerelda Bane," Draco spat, assuming a dueling position to mask the fact he took an instinctive step back.

Esmerelda favoured the boy with a predatory smile, the only one aware of their silent audience.  
"Interesting," she purred. "You aspire to take your father's place at _his_ side, and yet you keep your wand trained on me... the woman he covets."

Setting his face into a hard line, Draco Malfoy concentrated on his Occlumency shields and glared in defiance.  
"You are no woman," he spat, his pale eyes betraying a flicker of fear. When he realised, however, that a witch serving the Dark Lord had no issue with him, he lowered his wand. "What do you want?"

"What I want is sitting in that bar, getting to know _the one who got away_," said Bane mysteriously, knowing that the sheltered Malfoy boy would not understand the title those in Fenrir Greyback's pack had bestowed upon the outcast Lupin. "I seek only to stand between him and arrogant little wizards who leap to cause him harm."

"He killed my father!" snapped Draco, his former anger returning.

"Your father killed himself with his own stupidity," snapped Esmerelda in equal fierceness. "I may not share a connection with Arcturus anymore, but I have known him long enough to know he would never take a life in cold blood."

"He still took a life!" hissed Draco, trying to keep his voice down. "My _father's_!"

Quicker than human eyes could fathom, Esmerelda was upon the boy, shoving him up against the grimy wall of the pub. A hand at his neck, their bodies flush against one another, preventing Draco from moving at all, Esmerelda drove her point home.  
"Listen to me, Draco Malfoy, I will only say this once," she hissed in a low voice, delighting in the turmultuous wave of emotion coming off the Animagus hidden on the darkest corner of the alley. "As a rule I do not harm mortals without provocation. But if you insist on causing my Arcturus pain, you will not escape unscathed. When Arcturus approaches you, hear him out. His own father's death affects him greatly, and I sense that, on this matter at least, you are more alike than you could possibly know. Open your mind to him, Draco Malfoy... if for nothing else, for the blood you share."

The sincerity of the woman's voice threw Draco off guard, and he found himself seriously considering the words of the vampire witch. Quick to flee once the woman had relinquished her grip, he fled the shadowy alleyway without looking back, intent on intercepting the Black heir on the path back to Hogwarts.

Watching the confused teenager flee, Esmerelda almost did not sense when the wizard she was reluctantly connected to transformed into his human form.  
"Hello, Sirius," she said silkily, turning to face the man who had not been invited to his nephew's rendevous with the former Hogwarts professor.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius hissed, every muscle in his body tense. At first, he had been disgruntled when Arcturus' plans had left no room for him; the suggestion that his readily-recognisable presence would draw attention they did not want making painful sense. Despite Remus' protestations, he had nevertheless insisted upon leaving the warded sanctuary of Grimmauld Place and trailing his friend to Hogsmeade in his Animagus form. He knew there was an increased risk of Bane gaining control of his mind without Dumbledore's protections, but all the help Arcturus had been giving him to guard his mind with Occlumency could not be all for naught. The weary werewolf had conceded that a caged Sirius was never a good Sirius, and had knowingly taken his friend along under the strict provision that he remain out of sight, and in his animal form – a form that had historically proven itself to be a little more impervious to the influences of Dark Creatures.

"I should be asking you the same question," said Esmerelda quietly, slinking towards the wary wizard in a series of slow, unthreatening movements. "Arcturus will not be pleased to discover our meeting."

If Sirius thought he was tense from watching the woman threaten his cousin's son – a boy whom, despite his paternal lineage, the Animagus felt honour-bound to protect – he was wrong. At the implicit threat interlaced in the vampire's predatory gaze, Sirius positively froze, and inwardly scolded himself for not following his nephew's directions. Whilst the woman had made no conscious attempt to break into his mind and gain control over him, her power – now he was in her presence – was palpable; Sirius felt the fool for ever underestimating the woman's allure. He should have known that, like everything he touched, Arcturus could make holding one's own in front of the woman look easy.

His nephew, Sirius was again realising, had reserves of strength he'd never witnessed before in another human being. Arcturus had taken the experiences of his rather unorthodox and trying childhood and drawn from them in a manner befitting a true Gryffindor, all without acknowledging the true significance of his accomplishments. Resourceful and brave, the boy Sirius was still only afforded guarded glimpses of, was slowly revealing himself to have a heart of a lion and mind of a snake. As he acknowledged the iron-clad trap he had so unwittingly walked right into, Sirius' dismay was tangible as he considered the possibility of never truly knowing his nephew and idly wondered how the boy acted around his friends, behind closed doors.

Feeding off his thoughts – which were, in their physical proximity, more open to Sirius than the man consciously was aware of, thanks to their unwanted connection – Esmerelda reached out and caressed the side of Sirius' face.  
"I can show you," she said huskily, hypnotically entrancing the wizard she could see her Arcturus one day growing to resemble. Making the decision then and there to never harm the man who would clearly die to protect his blood – no matter how sullied – Esmerelda beckoned the man almost lovingly; the wizard's desire to know and love his nephew overriding any derison he felt towards her and thus tempering her mood to feverish highs. "Let me in, Sirius. I want to share that which Archie would never let you see."

Whilst part of Sirius' mind was instantly on alert, urging him not to fall for the seductress' ploy and instead earn his nephew's trust by honourable means, control had stealthily been wrenched out from under him.  
"Let me in, Sirius," she whispered again, her eyes boring into his. "You have nothing to fear from me. Set yourself free..."

All resolve leaving him, Sirius blinked slowly and willingly took the woman's hand.  
"Show me everything," he whispered defeatedly, even the small little part of his mind that still made sense conceding that he wanted to know.

* * *

"So, you are the _one that got away_..." said Arcturus assessingly, leaning back into the leather of the private booth he had acquired for the meeting. In the dark corner of the bar, where they sat largely unnoticed by the scatter of patrons around the room, his face fell into shadow. "Tell me, Lupin, did you ever wonder what your life might have been like, had you taken your place in the Pack?"

Remus Lupin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Despite his insistence that he be called Remus, the boy was still determined to address him with distant formality. In the hour they had been picking at the stale chips on the table and nursing their Butterbeers they had discussed, quite vividly, the Hogwarts Defence curriculum – past and present – and colloborated on the role the students themselves would play in shaping its future. It had shaped up to be a vastly informative meeting for both wizards, but as many professional interludes do, conversation had eventually petered into small talk and Arcturus, as Remus was quickly discovering, was not afraid of being forward. Draining the rest of his Butterbeer, the unassuming lycan set the tone for the conversation when he beckoned towards the bartender in a gesture that ordered two Fire Whiskeys for their table.

Whilst the service at the Hog's Head was hardly sanitary, they could not be called inefficient, and Arcturus was still trying to hide his surprise at the man's order when he suddenly found himself with a much needed shot of Fire Whiskey in front of him. Raising a brow at the former Hogwarts' professor in question, Arcturus decided to let the man know his surprise.  
"Ordering a controlled substance for a student, Professor?" he asked with a slight tone of incredulity in his voice. "I fear I may have underestimated you at some point."

"You're not my student, Arcturus," said Remus off-handedly, though secretly he was glad that his gamble was having its desired effect in disarming the youth before him. "I seem to recall a certain friend of mine moping about the depletion of his father's supply and figured you might appreciate a drop in light of the direction this conversation is heading."

Seeing sense in the man's words, but unable to prevent himself from speculating nevertheless, Arcturus smirked.  
"Either that or you both wanted to detract from answering my question and are adverse to drinking alone."

His lips twitching compulsively as he was shamelessly caught out – both the boy's observations remarkably well placed – Remus ducked his head to hide his guilty grin.  
"Never could get anything by a Black," he admitted in reverent mirth. "Even your father... Regulus was uncanny in his ability to get under people's skin."

"You were acquainted with my father?" Arcturus' head shot up in surprise. There had been a two year age difference between his father and uncle, and so he had no reason to suspect the friends of the latter had ever associated with the former.

"Well no," said Remus, with almost a tone of regret. "I couldn't very well allow someone that cluey too close... too many variables. I've never trusted very easily, you see..."  
At the boy's nod, he continued.  
"I know your uncle and your father did not get along too well – though if you want my opinion I think that was more your grandmother's doing than any real ill will they harboured towards one another – but from what I witnessed of Regulus from afar... he had the potential to be a great wizard."

"-Only the potential?" said Arcturus, a brow raised.

"He fell into the wrong crowd and died too young," said Remus in explanation, mindful of just whose son he was speaking to. "I daresay if we had been in the same year, my secret would have been uncovered a lot sooner."

All at once, Arcturus felt himself driven to badger the wizard before him with questions about his father. The question of how, then, his father could fall into such 'bad' company when, apparently, he was supposed to be so intuitive came to mind. Before he could open his mouth to speak, however, the werewolf cut him off.  
"At first, I think your father only started to associate with Dark wizards to set himself apart from the long shadow Sirius had cast – in the Hogwarts halls at least – and convince your grandparents that he was nothing like the son they'd outcast," said Remus, pausing and shifting uncomfortably as he acknowledged just how much of his observations were purely speculative. Quick to tell the teen as such, he continued in his analysis. "He also, I think, wanted to see how far he could go before his brother would step in... just so he could shoot Sirius down for interfering..."  
He shook his head in mild confusion and looked at Arcturus in apology.  
"I'll never really understand sibling interactions... myself and all the others in our dorm being only children," he scrubbed at his face irritably and moved on to assuring Regulus' son that the two Black brothers still held a measure of feeling towards each other. "I know Sirius blames himself for the path Regulus' chose. I think he feels he can make up for his inactions then, by being there for you now... but by don't by any means take that as an indicator that Sirius only cares about his redemption. On the contrary..."

Holding up his hand, Arcturus winced painfully and cut the older wizard off.  
"You do not need to defend your friend's virtues with me," said Arcturus, taking a huge leap in confiding in the wizard he was beginning to see as an impartial third party – well, someone as impartial as he could get. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before looking the man in the eye once more. "I may not be ready to let Sirius in, but I know where I stand with him."

"You might want to consider letting him know where he stands," suggested Remus, pleading his friend's case. "I am not even sure how we got on this topic, but Sirius is driving himself in circles, questioning whether or not you are receptive to him."

Ignoring the admission of his uncle's best friend for the moment, Arcturus took a sip from his Fire Whiskey and paused to savour the taste.  
"I do believe we were skirting the issue of your _other_ pack, Remus," said Arcturus smoothly, the conscious application of the man's first name a pointed attempt to show the wizard their budding association had stepped up a notch on his trust scale.

Getting the hint, Remus sighed and took a large gulp from his glass.  
"Yes," he said hoarsely, answering the boy's initial question. "Of course I have wondered. I do, however, have no regrets for how things have panned out."

"I thought as much," observed Arcturus quietly, his eyes looking haunted if only for a moment. "You would have to either be friendless or derranged to welcome a place at Greyback's side."

Nodding his head in agreement, neither wizard able to conceal the shiver that ran down their spines at the menton of the werewolf that had singlehandedly gave the breed a bad name, Remus decided to lay all of his cards out on the table.  
"Sirius didn't show me, but he told me of some of your memories," he confessed, watching the boy carefully to gauge his reaction. "The memories you entrusted to him, anyway... I am certain there is much more to you than a few wisps of thought in a Pensieve."

"Of course," said Arcturus, looking at the wizard blankly. When he saw the older man's searching look, he relented. "I would not have left my uncle that Pensieve if I had not first considered that he would share certain details with his closest friend. I won't go so far as to say 'if Sirius trusts you, so do I' because I do not believe in trusting people on the recommendation of others alone, but I do trust you, Lupin."

"Why?"  
Now it was Remus' turn to jerk his head up in surprise.

"Sirius told you of my memories," said Arcturus, as though that would explain it. When it did not, he shook his head. "Your life as you knew it was destroyed by Greyback, and yet rather than follow the lead of many before you by conceding defeat and joining his ranks, you stayed away. You remind me of Alyssa."

"I am sorry for her loss," said Remus, sincerely wishing he had been afforded the chance to know the one person who, in escaping Greyback herself, could have identified with him in a way no one else ever could. Sensing the boy's growing discomfort, he moved to change the subject. "And I am thankful for your trust."

Upon spying their nearly empty glasses, Arcturus ordered a refill, the pair becoming content to simply sit in silent company, each wizard contemplative in their thoughts. Little did either wizard realise at the time, that Arcturus was extending an olive branch that the boy's insecure uncle was, at that very moment, going to dire lengths to try and grasp.


	24. Beyond the Shields

**Disclaimer. I'd say it was mine, but then that'd be like Wnker Bros. telling us we were getting HBP in November...**

**Updated: August 22, 2008**

**Chapter 24: Beyond the Shields...**

In a strange twist of fate, the Occlumency shields Arcturus routinely surrounded himself with provided the window of opportunity in which Esmerelda could enchant his uncle. Distracted by his conversation with Remus, his mind numbed by the buzz the handful of whiskey shots had impressed upon him, the teen did not realise anything was amiss until they walked out of the bar.  
"What are you looking for?" said Arcturus slowly, wincing when he detected a slight slur to his voice. Though he made a habit of never drinking himself to intoxication, he couldn't deny that the evening with Lupin had been both productive and enlightening; the man now someone he knew he could turn to, along with his uncle.

Caught out despite the fact he was trying to be subtle, Remus jolted slightly and bowed his head sheepishly. Inwardly, he was debating what to tell the boy; in all likelihood Sirius had just gotten bored and headed home, but then he had told the Animagus to wait, and there was the newfound trust the teenager had in him to consider. He settled for the truth.  
"I know you said he shouldn't come, but he just couldn't help himself," said Remus apologetically, eyes looking around furtively for a sign of his dark-haired friend. When he could detect none, he frowned thoughtfully. "I left him out here in his Animagus form... he said he would wait for me, since he can't Apparate as Padfoot and he wasn't supposed to change back outside of Albus' wards..."

Arcturus was instantly on alert, his face losing colour drastically as Esmerelda chose that moment to let her possession of Sirius be known; inflicting such pain upon the unfortunate wizard that Arcturus could feel it through their bond, Occlumency shields be damned. Falling to his knees as the wind was knocked out of him, Arcturus closed his eyes wearily and flinched as the images flew into his vision. Seeing through what looked to be his uncle's eyes, Arcturus could see Esmerelda casting a particular nasty curse in the man's direction, her actions keenly observed by Voldemort and a small ring of Death Eaters.

Slumping until his elbows were resting on his knees, and his head was in his hands, Arcturus almost didn't hear the werewolf's calls of concern through the phantom pain Esmerelda was calling him with. Rising to his feet unsteadily, the battleworn boy extracted the Defence Association's latest invention – a charmed Galleon – and summoned his squadron to congregate at the Hogwarts gates. Prior to Hermione Granger's apt application of the Protean Charm, residents of Durmstrang had communicated between themselves using blood-based charms and, for those who had them, heirloom rings. It had bordered on Dark magic, and was extremely difficult for those unversed in the Arts to replicate, so all involved had embraced the comparatively simpler facilitation of a Protean Charm, which was demonstrably less detectable.

"Arcturus, what's wrong?" said Remus urgently, bracing a concerned hand on the lad's shoulder as the teen stood, the lycan berating himself for encouraging the boy to imbibe so much alcohol. "Do you require a Sobering Charm?"

His eyes snapping back into focus, Arcturus turned his attention away from his actions and stared at the werewolf with incredulity, realising as an afterthought that the wizard had no way of seeing what he had just seen, let alone feel the pain Sirius was currently going through.  
"She got him!" he said quickly, the look in his eyes conveying more than words alone could. At Remus' started look, he offered a scant explanation. "She is manipulating the bond that was cursed upon Sirius when he took away my Token; using the blood we share to show me..."  
His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath to steel himself. He looked directly into the alarmed eyes of his uncle's best friend.  
"She's taken him to Voldemort. I have to go," he said, brushing past the surprised wizard and surveyed the street, to make sure they were unseen. When he felt Remus grab him by the arm and begin to ask him a question, he cut the older wizard off. Allowing his voice to drop into a pained whisper, he bowed his head. "I can feel the pain she inflicts upon him... if it continues I will be of no use. I have to answer her call before it is too much."  
He retrieved the Galleon from where he had dropped it back into his pocket and thrust it into the worried wizard's hand.  
"Here, I have already summoned my team. Their Galleons will lead them to you. Go inside and Floo Snape, have him meet you by the school gates and press this Galleon against his Dark Mark. It will enable the coins my Squadron carry to Portkey them to Voldemort's location," he grimaced as he considered what his immediate future held. "I myself will use the link Esmerelda is calling me through, but I cannot wait for the others. Once you show them my coin they will know to trust your orders... but go now, we must act quickly."

"I can't let you go alone," said Remus, eyes wide. Sensing, though, that there would be no stopping the teenager – not without causing more of the pain he could now smell emanating off the child – his attention turned to other matters. "Your squadron... that doesn't include the Hogwarts students in the Defence Association, does it? They cannot possibly be ready..."

Considering the wizard's concern, Arcturus nodded briskly.  
"No, they have not been called," he confirmed, sharing the man's belief. Thinking, then, of how Harry was linked to Voldemort, he blanched, considering the likelihood of Tom showing Harry the scenes Esmerelda was thrusting upon him every time he closed his eyes. "Harry will likely be seeing what I can see, thanks to his link with Voldemort. You cannot let him come! Their link alone could kill him in the man's proximity. His time will come once we have found and destroyed all of the Horcruxes. Tell him that for me? Hopefully he'll understand..."

Coming to terms with the task the boy in front of him now had, and accepting his own pivotal role in things, Remus braced his hands on the teen's shoulders and offered his solemn promise.  
"I will do everything in my power to keep Harry at Hogwarts," he vowed. "I will alert Dumbledore and once Harry is secure, will follow with whatever Order members I can muster. Severus will lead the way..."

Something in the man's wording sent shivers down Arcturus' spine, and he grimaced as he recalled the prophecy Moody had overheard over the summer. Choosing not to speculate on its imminent fruition, he swallowed heavily and nodded in acknowledgement before stepping away from the wild-eyed werewolf and Disapparating; following the pull of Esmerelda's call.

* * *

Harry was running. He had left dinner early, having not had much of an appetite lately, and was alone in the common room when Voldemort inflicted upon him a vision that chilled him to the core. Dinner had finished moments earlier, and he encountered the trickle of students returning to their dormitories as he raced towards his destination. Pushing the faceless students aside in his haste, he was oblivous to their cries of protest until one voice stood out amongst the rest.  
"Harry!" yelled Ron, grabbing the sleeve of his friend's robes as the bespectacled boy had brushed passed him unseeingly.

Beside him, Hermione shared Ron's concern.  
"Harry, are you all right?" she asked carefully, taking in the wild look in her friend's green eyes as the jumpy boy took a moment to get his bearings and acknowledge them. Seeing she had his attention, she questioned him fully. "Why all the urgency? You look like you're running from a fire..."

'_More like into one,_' a sarcastic voice within Harry quipped, reminding himself of just how much he had become influenced by Arcturus' way of thinking in the past few months. Outwardly, he said nothing, simply staring at his friends with the same measure of incredulity that, unbeknownst to him, Arcturus was expressing to a certain werewolf little over a mile away. Taking a deep breath, he forewent his frantic search for authority and turned to his friends for help.  
"Come with me," Harry said quickly. "Come on, I've got to tell you something."

He led them along the first-floor corridor, peering through the doorways, and at last found an empty classroom into which he dived, closing the door behind Ron and Hermione the moment the moment they were inside. Leaning back against the smooth polished oak, he faced them with a horrible look of foreboding.  
"Voldemort's got Sirius. Esmerelda somehow found him..."

"_What_?" gaped Ron.

"How d'you-?"

"Saw it. Just now. When I dozed off in the common room," said Harry quickly, answering Hermione's question before she could even finish asking it.

"But – but where? How?" said Hermione, whose face was white.

"I dunno how," said Harry. "But I know exactly where..."  
He shivered violently at the memory.  
"He's got him in that graveyard... in the same place Cedric died. I'd recognise the place anywhere. That Bane woman is torturing Sirius... I think they're trying to get Arcturus' attention... Voldemort was telling Sirius that the last thing he'll ever see is his nephew take the Dark Mark and kill him..."

Harry found his voice was shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.  
"How are we going to get there?" he asked them, not knowing just how far Little Hangleton was to Hogwarts, but harbouring the sickening feeling that it was too far.

There was a moment's silence. Then Ron said, "G-get there?"

"Get to Little Hangleton, so we can rescue Sirius!" Harry said loudly.

"But – Harry..." said Ron weakly.

"What? _What_?" said Harry. He could not understand why they were both gaping at him as though he was asking them something unreasonable.

"Harry," said Hermione in a rather frightened voice, "er... how... how did Voldemort get Sirius without anybody realising he was missing? Sirius hasn't been able to leave you-know-where because of the link with Esmerelda, and there's no way anyone could have gotten him from there... not with Professor Dumbledore as the Secret Keeper..."

Harry hushed her with a glare, subtly reminding her that although they were alone in the classroom, no Privacy Charms had been set.  
"How do I know?" he bellowed. "The question is how _we're_ going to get him back!"

"But... Harry, think about this," said Hermione, taking a step towards him. "It can't be too far from dinner time in London... headquarters will have been swarming with _the old crowd_, all stopping by for a feed or even a meeting. I think we should check with someone there before jumping to any conclusions... it could just be a trick..."

"We haven't got time to waste with doing all that!" shouted Harry. "Sirius is being tortured NOW!"

"There has to be a quick way we could just _check_..." said Hermione, frantically racking her mind for an answer. Rememering something, she glanced towards a pocket in Harry's robes. "Harry! Your mirror!"

Having followed Hermione's gaze, Harry was well on his way to pulling out the old hand mirror that had once belonged to his father, and calling Sirius on it. With Ron and Hermione crowding around him to peer into the looking glass from over his shoulder, the trio waited with baited breath for Sirius' image to appear. As the foggy mist that preceeded any communication through the charmed glass finally cleared, all were shocked and dismayed by the image that then came into focus. Even though all had considered the possibility of Harry's vision being real, seeing it through the mirror in real time was like being confronted with a reality they could not ignore.

"Hold on Sirius, I'm coming!" screamed Harry in horror, desperate to reassure the man who looked to be on his last legs.

"Harry, no..." Sirius' voice was weak and distant, the man unable to see where his godson's voice was coming from, but hearing it thanks to the Death Eater who had been holding up the conviscated mirror in expectation of Harry's call.

* * *

"Let him go, Bane! He has served his purpose!" yelled Arcturus without preamble, the teen still unsteady on his feet from his abrupt landing. He quickly scanned the graveyard he found himself in and clutched his wand. "I'm here now, are you happy?"

Dropping her wand from where it had been trained on Sirius the moment Arcturus' voice reached her ears, Esmerelda considered the young man with a pained expression.  
"No, I am not happy," she said forlornly, referring to more than just the extreme lengths she had gone to, to have Arcturus by her side once more.

Her bloodlust for the boy was fading into memory, but she knew if he were to bleed before her, she would again find it hard to control herself. She motioned for the Death Eaters advancing on the teen from behind to hold back, and exchanged a look with the Dark Lord, reminding him of what they had agreed upon earlier – the boy's blood was not to be spilt on this night unless he consented to being Turned. Taking a step towards Arcturus, who she noticed flinched at the approach, she sighed in defeat.  
"I can never be happy when you are not," she said quietly, her tone sounding most loving. "Surely you realise how much you mean to me... how much we have been irrevocably entwined..."

"You only want what you can no longer have," hissed Arcturus, feeling seemingly unaffected by the vampire's heartfelt pleas, too driven by his anger. "Had I stayed with you, it only would have been a matter of time before you discarded me like all the others. Everything you ever did for me... to me... was conditional, and you know it!"

Realising the truth in the boy's words, Esmerelda staggered back as she acknowledged to herself that, indeed, she was incapable of loving any living being unconditionally. Narrowing her eyes in challenge, she peered at the boy who had perhaps come closest to proving otherwise.  
"And how would you know the difference?" she spat, knowing the answer before she'd even given voice to the question. The answer was sprawled before her, bruised and bloodied by her ministrations, defiant in his attempt to protect his kin; Esmerelda could feel the fierce love and protectiveness coming off the exonerated prisoner in waves.

"Let him go and I will give you what you want, Esme," said Arcturus quietly, surprising everyone with his willingness to resign himself to such a fate in exchange for the life of a man he'd known barely six months. Reflecting on the prophecy very few wizards knew about – the Unspeakables still unable to so much as even identify who gave it, or when – Arcturus interpreted the words in his own way. If killing known Death Eaters and sympathising with Dark Creatures made him a Dark wizard by the _Daily Prophet_'s reasoning, then by his reasoning he had descended into darkness years before Snape had ever led him into any battles. Whether Esmerelda would get what she want and Turn him now held little bearing on his outlook. Whether beating or undead, his heart would never be able to forget the bonds he had forged whilst living, and rather than become 'evil' from his place amongst the Dark, he would be free to spend eternity defending the weak. And Esme's love may not be unconditional, but it was enough to cater to his whims – together they would crush Voldemort like a bug. Eyes glistening with determination, Arcturus lowered his wand in a sign of submission and stared directly at the vampire witch who had shaped his life.  
"I see that this is how it was always supposed to be."

"What about what I want?" said the Dark Lord silkily, breaking into the silence with a hint of whiny petulance, the reborn wizard clearly unaccustomed to not being the focus of his victim's fears.

Catching the young wizard's gaze, he smirked victoriously, a knowing look in his eyes as he prepared to reveal his trump card. Gesturing towards one of his Death Eaters, he waited until the unidentified wizard had returned with a number of colleagues; a trio of prisoners sandwiched amongst them. Waiting until the boy he had so easily trapped in the end recognised both his childhood mentor and grandparents, he steepled his fingers in contemplation.  
"I am prepared to trade," he said cryptically, his mind set on retrieving his Horcruxes, but not quite in the manner the boy was beginning to think.

Snapping his fingers, a barrage of evil looking House Elves appeared, shouldering the weight of two enormous cauldrons, each steaming with an unidentified potion that returned to the boil the moment they were deposited on the magical fire Voldemort had conjured. Beckoning towards the prisoners with a skeletal hand, his gaze never strayed from Arcturus as he waited for comprehension to settle on the boy's features.  
"Bring forward the mother, and the brother," he said, nodding unseeingly as two wizards effortlessly hauled a spent Sirius to his feet and dragged him before one cauldron, whilst the two Death Eaters guarding Elena von Astor led the bound woman to the other; the remaining guard shoving the defected Karkaroff and Arcturus' maternal grandfather closer.

Seeing the beginning flickers of understanding on the boy's face, Voldemort confirmed the teen's suspicions.  
"I did not forget your throwaway comment, boy," he said smugly. "Though I hope not to be the one to convince you to consider the trade..."

At that, Voldemort let the sentence hang and strode forward to a point just in front of the two cauldrons, beginning to perform a magic only the darkest of wizards had ever seen before. Watching in disgusted awe, Arcturus became quickly aware of two things... the first, being that Voldemort was performing a variant of the magic Harry described as having been used to bring the Dark Lord back from the dead; the second, being Esmerelda's inexplicable presence directly behind him. Torn by which of the two to pay attention to, he settled for inching forward, away from the vampire witch who only followed him in response, and watching the ritual with sickening realisation.

The man was attempting to bring back his parents.

"No!" he whispered in horror, backing right into the waiting vampire witch, who snaked her arms around him and held him in place.

"No? Are you sure?" the vampire witch purred into his ear, stroking his forearms tenderly in a calming motion Arcturus was intimately familiar with. He could feel her prodding his mind, and felt no harm in letting her see what she wanted. The grip on his arms tightened as the woman confirmed her suspicions. "Yes... deep down... you'd do anything to get them back, hmmm? You want this to happen... don't you?"

"Yes," Arcturus whispered, horrified at his admission but unable to deny the tingling anticipation that threatened to overcome him as he saw the Dark Lord so close to succeeding. He didn't give any thought to motive, or consequences; his aching heart too fixated on getting back whom he had lost at long last.

"Will you do what it takes?" she cooed into his ears, effortlessly enchanting him with her proximity. With Sirius barely conscious, and equally in her presence, it was almost as though the boy had his Token still; so easily could she again descend upon his mind.

Arcturus hesitated, transfixed on the sight of Voldemort using the blood of both his grandmother and uncle and two of Igor's fingers – the 'servant' of his parents, he suppoed absently – to complete the potion. He startled when the man then gestured towards him for one of the last ingredients.  
"Will you spill your blood willingly, and bear the fruit of the consequences?" asked the Dark Lord, staring at him with startling red eyes. "It will not work unless we return the trace of the soul a parent imprints upon their child."

Whether it was Sirius' alarmed look, or the fact that the man had gained enough strength to weaken the hold Esmerelda had over him, Arcturus wasn't sure, but he felt a shimmer of sense returning to him.  
"No," he said firmly, staring into the face of the man who could give him back his parents and turning him down. "The dead stay dead."

His face darkening, Voldemort stepped away from the cauldron and, without warning, withdrew his wand and sent a wordless curse flying towards Arcturus' unsuspecting grandfather; the man dropping to the ground, dead.  
"Care to reconsider?" snapped Voldemort, eyes glinting in malevolence as he glared at the boy in challenge.

"What's to say you won't simply kill them all anyway, once you get what you want?" said Arcturus levelly. His glare matched Voldemort's own, and he even managed a sneer. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the hysterical sobs of his grandmother. "What's to say I would ever trade you what you want, even if you did bring back my parents? My father _died_ to keep that locket from you, do you think he wouldn't gladly do so twice?"

"I don't know, shall we test that theory?" said the Dark Lord, baiting the boy. When all Arcturus did was glare at him, he turned his attention towards the wizard who had betrayed his service. "Igor, Igor, Igor... such lies you did tell me about this boy! Everything, he knows... and more! Tell me, my dark little Judas, how much of the child's hatred of me a reflection of your influence? _Crucio_!"

Watching his surrogate godfather fall to the ground in a heap and start writhing in pain, Arcturus should have figured that Voldemort would not simply kill the defected Death Eater. A simple Killing Curse would be too merciful for one who had stolen all his secrets and turned a valuable potential follower against him. Voldemort kept his curse on the unfortunate wizard even as he walked towards the fallen man, wanting to see directly into the man's soul as he took the life out from under him.  
"Did you really think death would be swift for you, after what you did?" he hissed, breaking into a stream of Parseltongue that appeared to be a spell, as an unidentified blue light shot from the man's wand and hit its target, causing Karkaroff more pain that a Cruciatus ever could. The man inched closer to his victim and hissed louder, the spell intensifying. "You think you can destroy a piece of my soul and live to tell the tale?!"

"Stop!" screamed Arcturus, consciously unaware of having done so. Igor's screams fading into ragged gasps as Voldemort dropped the spell to look at him in question, for a time nothing but the man's harsh breathing and the quietening sobs of Arcturus' grieving grandmother could be heard.

"Stop?" mocked the Dark Lord, advancing on him slowly. Standing unbearably close to him, the vile man raised Arcturus' head with the tip of his wand pressed firmly under his chin. "You will give me what I want?"

"No-o... don't..." Igor's words of warning were weak, but determined.

In the words of his mentor – the closest link he'd ever had to his father, before Sirius, and even then closer on account of the actual friendship the two Death Eaters had shared – Arcturus recovered his resolve.  
"Never," he said firmly, in a tone that he just knew would make Igor proud even though he had effectively just signed the man's death warrant. Running over the Dark Lord's angered words, it dawned on him that his mentor's death would not be in vain – Igor had not allowed himself to be captured without first destroying the Horcrux in his possession.

In a display intended to taunt Arcturus, Voldemort stepped aside so that the boy could have full view of him killing Igor Karkaroff, an act that rapidly wiped the victorious smirk he could see about to break out onto the boy's features as the child realised what Karkaroff had done.  
"Yes, that is the fate of one who defies me," said Voldemort menacingly, leaning in close to Arcturus once more. "Yes, he destroyed the Horcrux I was fool enough to entrust him with..."  
He sneered at the still-defiant teenager, determined to break the boy. Leaning so close now, that he could whisper directly into the child's ear, his grin grew wider as the boy flinched at the closeness.  
"His death was more merciful than the fate I delivered upon your father," he teased, red eyes glistening as he pulled away and stared into the bright blue eyes that glared at him guardedly. "Oh, you think the Inferi finished him off? He and your grandfather both? Oh, no, you foolish boy; I dealth with them _personally_. Shall I demonstrate on your poor estranged grandmother?"

"There is no love lost between she and I," said Arcturus, feigning indifference, though the revelation that there had been more to his father's death than what Kreacher had last seen shook him to his core. It would only be a matter of moments now, surely, before his Squadron arrived; with any luck wearing their stealth armour, thus giving them a chance of survival. All he could do in the meantime, was stall.

The Dark Lord looked between the terrified witch and her disowned grandson critically, no doubt recalling the dissent in which he had once regarded his own blood kin. Changing tact, he shifted his gaze towards the boy's uncle meaningfully.  
"Your uncle, then?" he suggested with a slight leer. "Would be rather poetic... two brothers dying in the same way..."

"No!" said Arcturus before he could help himself, the fear of losing Sirius catching him completely unaware as his heart finally acknowledged how inexorably his uncle had worked through his defences.

"No?" Voldemort mocked, waving his wand at the boy like a parent wagging his finger at a disobedient child. He moved in for the kill. "If I refrain... if I show _mercy_... what is in it for me, hmmm?"

Considering his diminishing options, Arcturus realised he had no choice, and scowled at the Dark wizard who had backed him into a corner.  
"I'll do it," he said, thrusting out his arm and moving past the powerful wizard to hold it out over the closest cauldron in expectation.

Esmerelda was upon him in a flash, her eyes dilated by the imminent bloodlust and Turning the boy would be giving himself over to.  
"You realise I cannot stop myself from trying to Turn you, should you shed your blood," she whispered harshly in his ear, heady from the dream within her grasp but never wanting her Arcturus to regret being Turned.

"I will do what it takes," he whispered, mirroring the woman's earlier words, trying not to flinch as the woman's hold tightened around him. With the Dark Lord to one side of him, a heavy cauldron directly in front, and the vampire witch securing him from behind, he knew that he would have very little chance of avoiding her fangs the moment the incision was made.

Moments later, Arcturus did not know which he felt first, Voldemort taking hold of his wrist and piercing his skin with a dagger, or Esmerelda suffocating him with her grip around his chest and sinking her teeth into his neck. Whether it was from blood loss, oxygen deprivation, or a delayed reaction to all the overwhelming things he had witnessed so far, Arcturus felt his legs crumble from under him; the world around him beginning to spin out of control. Distantly, he could feel himself being levitated towards the second cauldron, and another incision being made, Esmerelda's grip on him never easing for a second. Through the blood rushing past his ears, and the painful burning in his chest as his body was depleted of its supply of blood and oxygen, Arcturus could hear his uncle's strangled protests. Possessed, suddenly, by a power he could not identify, Arcturus decided almost a moment too late that no, he did not want to be Turned... he did not want to die. His mind was assaulted with memories of every bad thing Esmerelda had done to him... all those full moons... the child she'd so ruthlessly had killed to 'further his progress'... all the times she had punished him for straying in his studies... Alyssa...

Alyssa.

The memory of her last performance, of the warmth that had settled over his heart at his effect, was enough to turn his blood to poison. Wrenching her mouth from his neck, Esmerelda staggered back drunkenly, the taste of his blood suddenly respulsive on her lips. Pitching forward, Arcturus gripped the edge of the nearest cauldron for support, only dimly aware of Voldemort spilling his own blood into the mix to complete the ritual. Clutching at the weeping wound on the side of his neck, unable to afford the loss of any more blood, Arcturus fought to stay conscious.

"Is he Turned?" said Voldemort, surprisingly naïve to the process as he finished the ritual and stared at the woman retreating from Arcturus.

Fighting to stand, Arcturus was oblivious to the woman shaking her head in the negative, but knew from the brief moment their minds had merged during the attempted Turning that she could never complete the ritual after having seen herself through the eyes of a boy who could not help but both love and hate her. Black spots danced over Arcturus' vision as he leaned more fully against the bubbling cauldron, his weight almost threatening to tip it over.  
"No matter," he could hear the Dark Lord say in a pleased voice, as the liquid in the cauldron splashed over the sides, drenching the front of Arcturus' robes. "He'll stand alongside his father at my side before the night is through."

At the word 'father', Arcturus' head shot up in surprise, only to find his vision blocked by an expanse of flesh that had emerged from the cauldron. He remained oblivious as the reborn figure was helped from the cauldron and wrapped in a spare Death Eater robe, the ressurected wizard taking a moment to regain his bearings.  
"Reggie?" Sirius' hoarse whisper carried itself over to Arcturus' ears, and he used the last bit of strength he had left in his body to seek out his uncle. Blanching at the man's shocked expression, Arcturus found he was almost too scared to try and look over at the confused wizard who had been deposited beside him.

Bright flashes of wandplay from all around them, however, quickly turned everyone's attention away from the pair in the middle of the cauldrons, as the small ring of Death Eater's found themselves under attack from invisible foes. Curling his hand into a fist, Arcturus was warmed by the presence of his heirloom ring, knowing that his Squadron will have taken measures to ensure that no one connected to him by blood would be hit by one of their spells. Around him, Voldemort was issuing orders, and the Death Eaters were scrambling to defend themselves. Just as they looked to be holding their own against the hidden enemy, a half dozen Thestrals crested the hill, bearing more fighters.  
"Sirius! Arcturus!" came Harry's cry as he half jumped, half fell off the leading Thestral's back, clutching at the scar that had started to burn in agony.

Beside him, Arcturus could feel the man beside him tense, and though he hadn't the strength to turn and look at the man, could sense the pieces coming together in his father's ressurected mind.  
"Arcturus?" a hoarse voice whispered, a shaky hand brushing his shoulder in a feather-light touch, as though aware of the boy's presence for the first time and expecting him to disappear into thin air.

Upon hearing his father call his name for the first time in living memory, Arcturus could not help but try to turn and face the man. Emptied of his burden, however, the cauldron could not hold the weight he was pushing onto it, toppling both cauldrons over like dominos and sending Arcturus flying into his father. When he did not impact with the floor, but instead found himself caught by the surprisng reflexes of a newly undead wizard, Arcturus found he could not keep hold of his consciousness any longer; the last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him was a scream he'd only ever heard in his dreams...

A/N: Not unlike the scream I let out when I heard the news about HBP - there goes my grand plan to see a Harry Potter movie open in three different continents (GOF and prior Australia, OotP UK, HBP USA). Besides the fact it's completely distorted the whole timing of my travel plans, I cannot help but loath the blatant exploitation of the fan base currently at play with this date change and trust you are all doing your bit to let WB know that they can't screw with us without consequences... insert ominous music score here


	25. Time of the Turning

**Disclaimer: At this point I find it prudent to point out that, despite a few minor edits I made after I settled in London last September, the basic undertow of this story was constructed before the release of 'Deathly Hallows'**

**Update: August 22, 2008**

**Chapter 25: Time of the Turning**

Albus Dumbledore and a contingent of Order members led by Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks arrived hot on the heels of Harry's group just in time to see Harry cower in pain and Arcturus pass out into the arms of a dead man. All manner of pandemonium had broken out after that, with witch, wizard and child fighting side by side to defeat the evil laid before them; victory in the battle not destined to winning them the war directly, but crucial in order to safe some of its main players. Though they now out-numbered the Dark Lord's forces two to one, the evil man would not allow his Death Eaters back; turning instead to his closest minion and proceeding to summon reinforcements that could turn the tide in his favour.

In the midst of it all stood Esmerelda Bane. As a vampire witch, she was largely impervious to the spells flying around her, and so she was able to watch, unencumbered, as the limp form of her Arcturus was cradled in the arms of his returned father. Ashamed of herself for what she had very nearly forced upon the boy, she was further mortified by the twist Voldemort had delivered in summoning the dead from their graves. Tom Riddle, in a show of malevolence she herself had not felt in over a century, had not just brought Arcturus' parents back from the dead, but had, in the midst of the ritual _she_ had helped him ammend, he had turned the innocent couple into a pair of his beloved Horcruxes. She knew, from well over a millenia on Earth, surrounding herself in such darkness, that the only way to destroy those pieces of Voldemort's soul was to kill the unwitting hosts; just as she knew that the only people who could kill the returned couple without physical consequence were either Tom or Arcturus – the two wizards whose blood had contributed to the ritual.

Esmerelda did not want to think of the agony such a decision would put the boy through, let alone witness the teen's anguish when he inevitably learned of her part in it all. If standing by and letting his childhood friend die could evoke enough feeling to turn his blood sour, then what she had just done was unforgivable. Watching as the two sides struggled to gain ground, and sensing from their faint auras, more Death Eaters arriving in the distance, Esmerelda made a choice. Summoning her own dark forces to assist the Light win their battle, Esmerelda could only hope that, when he awoke, Arcturus would take her turnabout as the sign of remorse that it was.

It was time to sever ties with Tom.

* * *

Upon seeing his men under attack by Esmerelda's army, Voldemort conceded defeat and swiftly departed, choosing to fight his battles another day. With a lingering glance in the direction of the ressurected Blacks, he supposed that enough damage had been wrought amongst his enemies, and inwardly mused how long his Horcruxes would last amongst the righteous propaganda of the Light. Knowing Arcturus was the only one who could destroy that which he had trapped within the boy's returned parents, he secretly hoped that the child's love for his kin would drive all three to his side. If not, he was prepared to lose the two Horcruxes if it assured him a better insight into the teen's application.

After her army had served its purpose in driving the Dark Lord away, Esmerelda had disbanded the group and lingered just long enough to inform those that would listen of the Horcruxes trapped within the souls of the returned. When her claims were met with stunned disbelief, she didn't argue her point. With a sincerity none would have expected of her, she extended her apologies to the unconscious teenager and assured them that, with the right spell, the same darkness that permeated the other Horcruxes they had in their possession would be found in the minds of the returned dead.

Unnerved by the departing vampire witch's defeated tone, Sirius had found the answer in his returned brother's eyes. The man remembered little else after his son's birth and was still coming to terms with how much the child in his arms had aged, but he knew one thing for certain; he was not of one mind. Nodding to his brother forlornly, rejoicing deep down at the implications of having found Sirius and Arcturus together in the same place, Regulus Black resigned himself to death a second time, and forced himself to be thankful for but the passing glimpse he had seen of the man his son was fast becoming.

For his part, Sirius was reluctantly willing to remain behind after everyone else had relocated to headquarters for treatment and debriefing. It tore his heart out to see his brother once more, looking barely older than the son whose fall he had broken; knowing all the while that it could not last. He wished for time to re-acquaint his brother with the life he missed out on, to atone for his own failiures and assure the man he was doing everything he could for Arcturus. But to indulge oneself with such luxuries would only make things harder in the end, and Sirius knew his brother would understand why he had to return to his grave so soon... any longer a stay and it would be impossible for the torn Animagus to let him go, Horcruxes be damned.

A word of warning from Dumbledore, however, sent the world into a spiral. It was suggested, rather quietly, that they ascertain the validity of the vampire witch's later claim – that only Voldemort or Arcturus could destroy these particular Horcruxes – before having Sirius risk his life in such a way. It would not do, Dumbledore said, for Arcturus to awaken and realise that not only had his parents returned to the grave, but the uncle he was only just beginning to know had followed them into it.

So, it was with a heavy heart that Sirius watched his sister-in-law reunite with her freshly widowed mother, desperate in the hope that the woman understood what was to become of her daughter. Trying not to think of the young man beside her as his long-dead brother, he took the wizard's arm and sought to relieve him of Arcturus' unconscious form. But as he prepared to Side-Apparate with his burdens to their childhood home, all hopes of disassociating himself from his returned brother were dashed when the man spoke.  
"You'll help him through this, won't you, Twink?" said Regulus softly. "I know what fate awaits... I know what he has to do... you'll be there for him, won't you?"

"I will, _Litte Star_... I will..." said Sirius, his voice choked by the lump in his throat. Regulus hadn't called him that since they were very small children. Years ago, when the two brothers had learned that their names were taken from the stars, their Uncle Alphard had introduced them to a quaint little nursery rhyme. As 'Regulus' stood for 'Little King', and he was the younger brother, it seemed appropriate for him to be the 'Little Star', whilst Sirius, with eyes that never failed to sparkle when his smile met his eyes, became 'Twinkle'... Twink, for short. Of course, as years had gone on, and they had begun to lose their childish innocence – all thanks to their mother's insecurities – Sirius' eyes lost their twinkle, and in being manipulated into competing against his sibling, Regulus had taken offence to being called 'little'. But it remained something between the two brothers and their uncle that no one else ever knew... not even James, and that was saying something.

Hearing the name spill from the man's lips so meekly, like he hadn't just been dead for the past sixteen years and the decade immediately prior to his demise hadn't happened at all, Sirius felt his heart clench. Appearing in the entranceway of Grimmauld Place to be greeted by the shocked scream of his mother's portrait, Sirius neglected to let go of his brother's arm and led him, and the teenager they half-carried, half-dragged between them, into the study.  
"You know, you're really not making things easy for me, Reg," he said in a strangled voice, taken aback when he saw his brother's smirk. At the age his body had remained, it could well have been Arcturus wearing that look.

"What, you didn't think a lifetime of being dead would make me go easy on you, did you, brother?" teased Regulus, though Sirius could detect no malice in the man's tone.

"Prat," mumbled Sirius, rolling the tension out of his shoulders after they deposited Arcturus on the closest lounge. He could only watch, then, with a small amount of envy, as the boy's father positioned himself on the floor, sitting cross-legged and leaning against the arm of the chair closest to Arcturus' head. Trapped in a body identical to the one he had originally died in, Regulus Black possessed a fluidity of youth that Sirius had long lost in Azkaban.

Feeling his brother's eyes on him, Regulus met the man's intense gaze.  
"Tell me about my son, Siri," he asked somberly. Seeing an unidentified pain wash over the man's face, he decided to add a little brevity to the situation. "Unless you'd rather I tell you how much like Father you're looking these days... old man..."

Sirius glowered at his kid brother, realising that he really did have his brother back, if only for a little while. Wincing as his bones cracked in protest – at twice the age of the ressurected wizard, his body was hardly as nimble – Sirius fell in an indignified heap beside his brother, mirroring his pose against the couch.  
"Don't say a word, Reg," said Sirius, giving his snickering brother a warning look.

Rubbing the back of his head nervously, he took a deep breath and steeled himself for the conversation he'd never thought he'd have. Where to start?

* * *

"Arcturus got his parents back, isn't that fantastic?" said Hermione, still awed by what had been revealed to them when they had enquired about the identity of the two people in the graveyard. She smoothed out the sheets around Harry's weary frame, perching on the the edge of the bed that the Boy-Who-Lived favoured in the Hogwarts infirmary.

After ensuring that the threat had abated, Dumbledore had sent the Thestrals back into the wild and gathered all the students around a series of Portkeys, designed to return them to the school. Once there, Madame Pomfrey had been rushed off her feet giving them all a once over, before sending those with just minor scratches away with a healing salve and keeping but a few over night. All things considered, the casualties had been minimal. Two Order members had been sent to St Mungo's for more involved treatment, and asides from Harry only Arcturus and a Durmstrang fourth year require hospital supervision.

"It's far from fantastic, Hermione," said Harry bitterly, beginning to question just why Arcturus was nowhere to be found if, indeed, he had last been seen unconscious. With a haunted look of sympathy on his face, he told his waiting friends what fate awaited the two people Voldemort had ressurected with a piece of his soul within them.

When he was done, Hermione and Ginny were weeping, and Ron and the twins looked as though they might be ill. Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, Harry fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes in defeat. Before he could drift asleep, though, his thoughts haunted with the pain he was feeling for Arcturus' latest predicament, Hermione shook him into awareness and called out for Madame Pomfrey. Seeing the fatigue in her most frequent patient, she thrust a vial of Dreamless Sleep into his hands and ushered the able bodied students out of the ward.

* * *

"Drink it," said Eleanora Black with a roll of her eyes, wishing she could laugh at the suspicious look her husband had given her but unable to bring herself to so much as smile. Her memories had stopped after her water had broken, and she was still trying to come to terms with the fact that she had died sixteen years earlier, returning to a time where her father had just been murdered in cold blood and her teenaged son had to kill them in order to defeat evil.

"What is it?" said Regulus, still sprawled on the floor next to his brother, the sleeping form of Arcturus resting peacefully on the lounge they were leaning against. Whilst he and Sirius had Disapparated to the family stronghold, Arcturus in hand, and had been left alone since by the trickle of Order members who had come and gone around them, Eleanora had left with her mother, intent on assisting the distraught woman with the body of her father. She had returned after barely an hour, it being mutually decided that things would get unbearably complicated if any of the staff within her parents' home saw her, and had come bearing gifts.

"An aging potion," she said coyly, holding one vial out for her husband to take. "When Arcturus awakes... it will be disconcerting for him to find two people barely older than himself. This will restore us to how we would have appeared, had we lived."

"Are you sure that's wise?" said Sirius with a frown, his voice failing him before he could remind them of what Arcturus had to eventually do.

"What do you think would be easier for him, brother? Killing parents who are barely older than he, or returning us to the grave after we've had the opportunity to speak to him as he would imagine us to be like?"

"Don't fool yourself, _brother_," said Sirius wearily. "It's going to be hard, regardless."  
Suffocating in the oppressive cloud that had descended upon the room, he tried to think of a light side.  
"But go on, take the damned potion... I want the chance to see what my baby-faced brother looks like as an old man," he said teasingly. "And then we'll see who has kept better joints..."

As the younger Black brother reached out to accept the potion from his wife, the sleeve of the outer Death Eater robe he still wore riding up to expose his forearm, Eleanora almost dropped her potion in shock.  
"Your Dark Mark! It's gone!" she gasped, eyes wide in surprise.

"One of the upsides of being ressurected in a new body I guess," said Regulus with a shrug, a funny expression on his face. Downing the potion, he pulled a face at the taste and tugged at the robes as he felt his body begin to change. "Say, you think once this potion has run its course I could scam some decent clothes? My son shouldn't have to see me in the clothes of a killer..."  
He rubbed at his arm distractedly, marvelling at the clear expanse of skin.  
"This is how it should have been," he whispered to himself in self-reproach. Catching a glimpse of his older self in a floor length mirror across the room, he blinked at how he had aged. "This is how we would have been right now, if I had never gotten that damn Dark Mark..."

Reaching over and squeezing his brother's shoulder in support, Sirius could not bring himself to say anything; there not being any words that could turn back time and make things right.  
"He'll understand, Reg," he said finally, sensing his brother's apprehension. "He'll not judge you."

"I hope so," said Regulus in a deep baritone that was a far cry from the post adolescent rumble he had died with. Using Sirius' shoulder for support, he took his wife's hand and hauled himself up into a standing position and looked at his wife appraisingly. The woman had changed into an old set of her robes whilst at her parents' home, and though she had since aged herself sixteen years, looked as shapely and radiant as she ever did.

Clapping his brother on the shoulder, feeling decidedly disconcerted by the revelation that the man still had some growing to do after the time of his death – for the pair now stood at the same height – Sirius gestured towards the door.  
"C'mon, let's go get you cleaned up. If you can stand my hand-me-downs, we should be able to find something a little more appropriate than that death-munching apron," said Sirius, looking at the garb in question distastefully. Noticing his brother's hesitation, he tugged the man's arm. "C'mon, Arcturus'll be out for a while yet. Elle can stay with him, I think he'd like that..."  
He locked eyes with his brother's wife and realised that they had not technically been introduced, in this life or the last.  
"You don't mind if I call you Elle, do you?" said Sirius sheepishly. He extended the hand that was not pulling Regulus along. "I don't believe we've been formerly introduced. I'm Sirius Black, your, er, brother-in-law."

"Eleanora Black," said the woman with a warm smile, taking his hand in a firm grip. "And yes, you may call me Elle. If I do not get the chance to do so later, thank you for everything you have done for my son."

"I haven't really done much," muttered Sirius awkwardly, shooting his brother a look. One of the first things he had come clean about when telling the man what he knew of Arcturus, was that they'd only known each other for such a short time.

"You've done more than I think you know," said Regulus wisely. He glanced down at the sleeping form of his teenaged son and could not resist running a hand through the fine hair that rested atop the boy's head. "Don't ask me how, but somehow I just don't think he would have gone after you if you'd only known each other six months and you had failed to make an impression."

* * *

"There has to be a way to destroy those Horcruxes without taking with it the miracle that the Black's return signifies!" said Molly Weasley, aghast at the idea of taking a life, even if that person had already been dead and should never have come back.

"I don't like it," said Mad-Eye Moody. He hadn't been present at the battle, but had arrived in time for the meeting afterwards. He could see through his magical eye that the youngest Black was still asleep on the floor above, his ressurected mother watching over him, whilst the reunited brothers made their peace in an upstairs bedroom. Until the boy awoke to his task, they were on borrowed time, and he hated being the one to admit it. "Even if we could let 'em live, we have no idea how the ritual was done, and if people catch wind that Voldemort can give them back their loved ones, no strings attached, it will only lead to disaster."

As much as everyone was loath to deprive an orphan of such a miracle, no one could dispute the truth in the one-legged wizard's words. Even if the pair could be allowed to live, it would never be a normal life... no one could know outside those in the Order. But as it stood, there was still the unavoidable issue of the Horcruxes intertwined in the couple's respective souls.  
"If we can't extract the Horcruxes any other way..." said Remus Lupin, his voice trailing off. He took a breath. "Must Arcturus be the one who does it, do you think? Or could it just be Bane's way of messing with his head one final time?"

"No, I am afraid not," said Albus Dumbledore, wearily. "Reports from Hogwarts reveal that young Harry is of the same opinion, and he had not been conscious to hear the vampire witch's statements."

"But couldn't that just be Voldemort, planting the same ideas in his mind?" said Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the few Order members formidable enough to use the Dark Lord's name without cowering.

"It is possible, but then Esmerelda Bane did side her forces with us at the time where it most counted," said Dumbledore wisely. "Why would she endorse Tom's propaganda, if she had wanted us to survive?"  
He looked upwards, as though peering through the floor and up at the boy who lay asleep above.  
"If she had wanted Arcturus to survive?"

"There's a difference between surviving and being happy," said Snape darkly. He had not gotten the call to join the battle until just before Esmerelda Bane had turned her forces against the Dark Lord, and by the time he had arrived it was all over. After catching but a catching glimpse of his long-dead cousin and following the retreating Death Eaters to find the Dark Lord in no mood for hosting a meeting, he had returned to London for the Order debriefing, to learn then the task the unconscious Black boy had ahead of him. It was something he certainly did not envy the boy for. "Perhaps Bane is putting the boy in this position, to punish him for turning her down."

"But he did not turn her down, Severus," said Albus with a strange look. "He consented to being Turned in the hope it would buy them all some time and save the others from further harm. It is the blood loss that has rendered him unconscious, and as you know full well from this type of injury, a Blood Replenishing Potion will not help him."

"He has been Turned?" said Severus, openly showing his surprise.

"No," said Lupin, seemingly contradicting all that the headmaster had just said. The sandy-haired man elaborated. "She tasted him but could not Turn him in the end."  
He looked to the headmaster, renewed understanding in his eyes.  
"I think she was telling us the truth."

"And it absolutely has to be him?" said Molly Weasley, horrified. She did not know Arcturus Black too well, and what she did know of the fiercely independent boy had made her somewhat wary of the teen, but she would never condone such a task being thrust upon an orphaned child. Why, in a lot of ways, she couldn't see it as being any different from Voldemort bringing James and Lily Potter back from the dead with similar purpose, forcing Harry in the same position. Following the gaze of several other Order members, each of them looking up to where a mother was waiting to be reunited with her son for the first time in nearly sixteen years, the Weasley matriarch found herself struggling to hold back a sob. "Oh the poor dear."

"Don't ever let Arcturus hear you call him that," said Remus absently, though inwardly he was thinking precisely along the same lines. He could only hope that both Arcturus and Sirius got to make amends with the ill-fated couple first, enabling them to let go with a sense of closure.

* * *

Arcturus fought to bring himself into consciousness, the hazy fog in his mind trying to tug him back into the abyss at every turn. As he slowly became more aware of his limbs, he attempted a groan as his body protested the generous blood donation he had made earlier. The gentle humming that he had thought to be coming from the recesses of his mind stopped abruptly, the rustling of movement beside him alerting him that he was not alone. Inhaling experimentally, and feeling that which he was laid out on with the pads of his fingers, Arcturus concluded that he was on the couch in his grandfather's study, and that there was someone decidedly feminine in close proximity.

"Come on, baby, open your eyes for Mama," a soft voice urged him to open his eyes, feathery soft fingers dancing across his forehead and running through his hair in soothing, though hesitant, strokes.

Recalling the last moments of the battle, before he had succumbed to the blood loss, Arcturus' heart seized as the woman called herself 'Mama'. Remembering in the same instance, the fate that would await them should they wish the Light to win, Arcturus furrowed his brow as though in pain. His mother's ministrations upped a notch, the woman working double time to try and sooth the crease in his brow. Arcturus was close to snapping his eyes open and brushing the woman's hands away, determined not to allow himself to bond with the shell of a mother Voldemort had inflicted upon him, when the woman began to sing.

* * *

"Will you hurry up and just pick something already?" snapped Sirius, rolling his eyes as his brother tried on yet another set of his robes.

"Leave me alone, will you? This body has never worn clothes before, all right? My skin's a little sensitive..." said Regulus, looking decidedly self-conscious as he regarded his new aged form in the mirror. "And it's rather weird to be 18 one minute, and 34 the next, okay?"

"You primp yourself any more, young master, and your hair will fall out," commented the mirror helpfully.

Instinctively, Regulus reached for where his wand would normally be, intent on silencing the cheeky mirror, and scowled when he realised that he'd never possessed a wand in this new form.  
"My wand..." he said, curious.

"Arcturus has it," said Sirius, pushing off against the sideboard he had been leaning against. He straightened out his robes. "C'mon, you look _fine_. The sooner you get downstairs, the sooner you can get your wand back."

An easy smile came to Regulus' face at the prospect of seeing not only his wand, but his wife and son again. It was strange, really, that so much time had actually gone by, because it only felt as though he'd last held his infant boy in his arms a few days ago, before he had left the child with his parents and gone to undo the damage he'd unwittingly prescribed the family House Elf to. At the scattered memory that encounter bought, the smile disappeared from his face, and he frowned.  
"I don't know if I can do it, Sirius," he said meekly, sounding every bit the 18 year old he technically was. He rubbed clammy palms against the lapels of his borrowed robe. "What do I say to him? He's only a little younger than I am! Maybe this whole aging potion was a bad idea... I don't have 34 years of experience under my belt... all the mistakes I made in my life, I don't have any great pearls of wisdom to pass on to my son..."

"Did our father ever?" said Sirius, pulling his brother into a one-armed hug. He squeezed the younger man's shoulder in encouragement. "I know it sounds crazy, kid, but just being yourself is a great start..."

"I'm wearing _your_ robes and parading around like the 34 year old wizard I'm not!" deadpanned Regulus, glaring at his brother.

"There!" said Sirius jovially, slapping his brother on the back with such force, the wizard pitched forward and almost fell over his feet. "Just like that... well, maybe not the falling over youself part... we Blacks do have our dignity, y'know."

* * *

"Do you have a status report on Black?" said Michael Kirsch, standing at the bedside of one Harry Potter. "No one is telling us anything, and the men are getting restless."

"He's going to be fine," said Harry wearily, still coming to terms with all that Tonks had come in and updated him on, confirming everything he had gleamed from Voldemort's mind during the attack on his scar. He rubbed said mark nervously. "His uncle took him home for a few days, to see to some, er, family issues."

Kirsch's eyes narrowed like a bird of prey who had just found its lunch.  
"And yet you are here," he stated, one brow raised. He leaned forward. "Arcturus' return to London wouldn't have anything to do with the couple that came out of the cauldrons and a certain rumour about them being his parents, now would it?"  
At Harry's startled look, Kirsch nodded in satisfaction, pleased to find he had compiled the right information. Taking another leap, he sought confirmation on another rumour.  
"Is it also true, that the returned cannot stay, and must be reverted to their former state by their closest blood relative?"

Astonished by the manner in which Kirsch had just described Arcturus' predicament, Harry blinked.  
"Uh, yeah, something like that," he said, not for one moment thinking that he should exercise discretion; the boy's status as Arcturus' 'second' and the manner in which the efficient teen had so effortlessly thrown him unaware not giving him the luxury of such consideration.

In a surprise move, Kirsch frowned and fell into the closest chair, burying his face in his hands. Not quite understanding the words the foreigner was muttering under his breath, Harry sat up gingerly and adjusted the glasses on his face before pushing aside the meal tray he had been eating from when the boy came in and staring at him in contemplation.  
"You okay?" he asked, taken by the defeated pose the normally proud Durmstrang student paraded around strangers.

Kirsch rubbed his face wearily before looking up into Harry's eyes.  
"When they come to extract you from the school, will you take me with you?" he asked, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. "Arcturus and I are best friends. With Esmerelda out of his life, and Alyssa dead... I fear this on top of it all will break him. If I am there I will be able to detect, better than any of you, any signs of Arcturus burying his feelings, and help keep him away from that abyss."

Harry looked set to protest, quick to want to point out to the multifaceted Durmstrang student how strong and resourceful Arcturus was. Sensing as much just by his expression, Kirsch cut him off before he could speak.  
"You may think he can take anything in his stride," he said in a quiet whisper, hoping his friend could forgive him for the slight betrayal in trust. "Indeed he is more resilient that most. But he is not infallible. He is a thinker... and if left to think about too much all at once, he will be lost."

"I'll ask," said Harry finally, casting aside his curiosity in favour of letting Arcturus keep his privacy in such matters. All he knew, was that if he was ever faced with such a horrible choice, he would most certainly want his friends around him to help him through it. "I can't make any promises, but I'll state your case like it was my own. I promise you that."

A genuine smile coming over Kirsch's face, the older boy relaxed.  
"I can see why Arcturus thinks so highly of you," he observed, praising the dark haired teen and smirking as emerald green eyes widened in surprise. He went on. "You will be good for each other in the coming war, I can see that now... you balance him out in a way that cousin the Staff chose for him never could."

With that, Michael Kirsch stood in a fluid motion and bade his leave, sweeping out of the room with his head held high. Sinking back into his pillows to contemplate the conversation he had just had, Harry came to the rather astute conclusion that whilst he would never quite understand the ways of a Durmstrang student, he would do his damndest to see things through the eyes of the boy he was beginning to see more and more as the brother he never had. That wasn't to discount the way in which the Weasleys had practically adopted him as one of their own, however. But Ron was his _best friend_, and if he had learned anything from watching the Weasley boys interact, it was that siblings could care for one another and be there for each other without having much of a role in each other's social lives. It was just like the peculiar allegience that was forming between he and Arcturus, and Harry found that he liked that very much.

Now, to only get out of the hospital wing and back to Grimmauld Place...

* * *

"Oh my baby! It's okay, let it out..." cooed Eleanora, stunned at first to find herself with an armful of teenaged boy, easily slipping into the role with the ease of a natural mother; rearranging themselves so that she was seated comfortably on the lounge, Arcturus' head in her lap.

Arcturus tightened his hold around the woman's waist, burying his face in her knee as he tried to smother the uncontrollable sobs that had waited years to be let out. Continuing to stroke the mass of hair in her lap, as though petting an unsettled Kneazle, Eleanora smiled down at her son unseeingly as she remembered the fiesty Familiar she had found in Knockturn Alley the same day she'd met her son's father. All too aware that the boy had probably never heard the story, she stopped her absent humming and cleared her throat, beginning the tale of how she'd met her husband in the soothing tone only a mother could possess.

A few minutes later, two brothers walked into the room, only to halt in the doorway at the woman's soft words; neither mother or son seeming to have noticed their arrival. For his part, Sirius could only listen with a touch of jealousy as this woman – who was so clearly in love with her family – told the distraught child in her lap the story of how she had first visited London and met his father. Next to him, Regulus slumped bonelessly against the doorframe, a positively lovesick smile on his face as he inwardly recalled his own memories of that day. Spotting his father's Pensieve on its perch in a corner by the hearth, Regulus' eyes glistened in the way they always had whenever overcome with an idea, and he looked over at his brother; the older man having apparently reached the same conclusion, Regulus being met with a look of understanding.  
"I have an idea," he said anyway, the smile that came over his face taking away all the nerves and unease he'd so recently felt.

Disturbed by the sound of voices behind them, Arcturus stiffened in his mother's arms and sat up slowly, quickly wiping his face as he sat with his back to everyone. When he could feel someone approach, knowing inwardly that it had to be his father - as the movement was different to Sirius', but not so much that it was someone outside the family - Arcturus stood abruptly and squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath and raising his chin before boldly turning to face the man.  
"Hello, Father," he said in the strongest voice he could muster, feeling as though his weakness and vulnerability were emotions he could only show in front of his mother.

Across from him, and staring at his boy with open awe, Regulus could only frown at the imposition of a lounge that stood between them. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance and take his son into his arms. Had he a wand, he might have banished the couch – not caring if it would have sent his wife sprawling – but as it were he was wandless, and the soft leather settee created a gulf between them as assuredly as life and death itself.

"Hello, son," said Regulus, finally finding his voice at last.

A/N: Y'know, this story really is crying out for reviews... but I'd love you even more if you follow one of the below links and do your bit in overloading WB with HOWLERS! The Communications grad. in me is skeptical that it will promote change, but it's the principal of the matter and just because the core audience of HP fall within a young demographic, doesn't give a studio the right to walk all over them. We let this slide and next thing you know the two DH movies will be a paltry 90 minutes apiece and the only reason they were ever split was not about the length at all...

http: / harrypotter.warnerbros .com /diagonalley /newhowler .html

http: / pottersorder.blogspot .com /2008 /09 /harry-potter-november-release-email .html

...there are countless more, but I daresay you'd be hard pressed not to have seen them yourself by now! - D


	26. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine is the horrendously rushed and lame ending I could never see means to change... stupid Muse.**

**Updated: August 22, 2008**

**Chapter 26: Nineteen Years Later... (NOT!)**

**Epilogue**

If it had surprised Arcturus to find his parents as aged as they would have appeared in an uninterrupted life time, he didn't show it. Truth be told, he barely remembered much of those last few moments before he had passed out. He'd not been in the position to get a good look at the man who had caught him in their arms, and had only heard his mother's cry. Sirius had explained the change to him anyway, setting the tone for a reunion that would command full disclosure.

At first, Arcturus had been wary about letting his parents see the memories he had initially left for Sirius in the Pensieve. Despite the fact he knew that his uncle was nothing less than proud of him for all he had endured, he feared that his parents would pity him. Assured otherwise, he had reluctantly agreed, only to find himself with two extremely clingy parents by the time the last memory had played itself through. Having decidedly seen enough of Pensieves for one sitting, Arcturus did not even think to have his parents share some of their own memories with him... so resigned he had become to simply never getting to know them.

Reunited with both his wand, and journal – Eleanora having brought hers back with her from her mother's home – Regulus had proven an invaluable help in the Order's investigation about Voldemort's Horcruxes. At the time of his death, the defected Death Eater had only known the whereabouts of Slytherin's locket and ring, and was rendered speechless with pride as he was informed of his son's sole part in recovering nearly all of the others. Having been too wary about the information falling into the wrong hands – well, not so much the wrong hands, but hands too inexperienced to handle the magic safely – Regulus dutifully informed those that had gathered of all the findings he had otherwise omitted from his diaries. Apparently, he'd stored the knowledge in his vault for Arcturus to collect and use after he came of age; it being a surprise to all that the answer to destructing Voldemort's Horcruxes had been so close all along.

One thing that the Order had been able to ascertain without Regulus' research, was that only someone connected to the Horcrux in some way could destroy it without repercussion. Having been marked as his equal, it was thought that Harry best fit this bill, but such was the case with Arcturus and the Horcruxes that were attached to his parents' returned souls, _any_ heir of the item (or person) cursed could destroy the Horcrux, with the right spell. Harry, who was not set to return to Grimmauld Place until the holidays began, was understandably relieved at the news, when Sirius had rushed to tell him through their secure mirror connection; the marauding artefact having been found abandoned in the graveyard that night and returned to him.

Safely absconded within Order headquarters, it had been decided to delay the couple's return to the underworld until Christmas night. All involved deserved at least one Christmas together, particularly once childhood feuds were put to rest and the festivities of the season were taken into consideration. When Regulus had learned of a Fidelius Charm having been placed on the home he had made with his wife, he had insisted that Arcturus experience the one Christmas they were to have as a family in the home they had once hoped to make for him. It was long since time to purge the house of all the death it had become associated with, he had said.

To say Arcturus was feeling apprehensive about entering his parents' home with his present company was an understatement. As he was so thoroughly reminded by the memory his grandmother had inflicted him with over and over, the last time he had been in that same place with his parents, his mother had been poisoned, and his father had left to face a certain death. The added reminder, then, of the time drawing near when he would have to see his mother killed a second time, had plunged Arcturus in a dark mood he fought gallantly to cover. Kirsch, who had practically invited himself along for the break when he had shown up with Harry at the end of term, had pulled him aside and set him straight almost immediately. Regulus and Eleanora were pleased beyond words by Arcturus' choice of friend, and had further assisted in helping him see the light side of spending but one Christmas together.

Simply put, it was better than none.

The days flew by, painfully fast, but despite the end that shadowed over them all, none could deny it was the best Christmas any of them could ever remember. Even Elena von Astor, who was facing the first Christmas without her husband so painfully close to his death, had rejoiced at the opportunity to see her daughter one final time and make ammends with the girl's family.

As Secret Keeper to the Prince estate, Severus Snape had irrevocably been roped along, and all had been amazed to discover that the man had actually been rather close with his estranged aunt and ressurected cousin; the association becoming taut in the wake of his own mother's death and his descent into the Dark Arts. Though it had been made painfully clear that the man's attitude towards his two least favourite students would never change, Arcturus was distracted from his upcoming task by the collection on some rather compromising information about his reluctant second cousin.

Harry, meanwhile, was thriving at the opportunity to truly be apart of a family Christmas – a family he was fast becoming to identify as his own. Sirius was so jovial, he would sing nonsensical carols to the portraits and leap on people in his Animagus form with no warning. Remus – who would never be excluded from the celebrations, according to Sirius – was thrust into the role of mitigator and peace keeper; the man maintaining the most dignity of all the adults until Regulus slipped under the werewolf's radar and spiked his drink. After that, the whole house came to know why Remus was a fully fledged member of the infamous Marauders. Often left to his own devices in the Prince family's ancestral potions lab, Severus was just glad the pranks were not directed at him.

Arcturus' birthday had come and gone with minimal fanfare, and with it, Christmas Eve. Until this point, it had been like Christmas every day of break, but with only 24 hours to go until the self-imposed deadline no one wanted to deny, reality had cast its lingering shadow. But rather than distance himself from the Horcrux-poisoned people he would soon have no choice but to destroy, Arcturus was greedily soaking up every last minute he could have with his parents, slowly coming to terms with their limited time on earth and focusing on the graditude he felt for being able to know them at all.

To better assist the situation, Severus had brewed a fast acting poison for the purpose. He told anyone who would listen that he was doing it for Eleanora and his aunt, but the glimmer of respect in his eyes whenever he looked at the youngest Prince heir had not gone entirely unnoticed. Albus Dumbledore showed up after lunch on Christmas day to be inundated with a frivolous supply of socks and lemon drops and quietly offered his condolences; apologising for not finding another way to destroy the Horcruxes and standing by in case their destruction caused any backlash.

The couple's farewell to extended family and friends had been quick and impersonal, much like a newly wedded couple about to depart for their honeymoon. Sirius had disappeared behind the closed bedroom door first, making secret assurances to his ill-fated brother and apologising one last time for never having read the man's letters sooner. Absolved of his guilt once again, the man had emerged from the bedroom with a determination in his step, intent on setting up his brother's lasting legacy to his son in time for the boy's return from the room. Just as Arcturus had no idea of the memories his parents had left for him, Harry had no idea of the shrunken Pensieve Dumbledore had arrived with; the old wizard's personal Pensieve full of memories of James and Lily that the Order had spent the past three weeks collecting to compliment Arcturus' gift.

As for Arcturus, he'd held the potion to his parents' lips with steady hands, and sat with them until the life painlessly faded from their eyes. A long time after their conjured bodies had faded back into nothing, he remained, reflecting on the final words of love and pride his parents had blessed his ears with. Returning to the living room that still held all the trappings of the holidays, no one could deny that he wasn't a changed young man. All light had left his eyes, and he walked with a heavy step. Salty tracks scarred his face, remnants of the tears he had allowed to fall in his father's presence. He had cried in front of his father, and it had been okay, and so now he was no longer ashamed of his tears. Falling into a chair sandwiched between his uncle and god-cousin, Arcturus unashamedly folded himself up into the waiting embrace and let grief claim him. He would never turn to evil, but his life at that moment could not get any darker – it seemed the prophecy had come to pass after all. But then, just as Arcturus was all about cried out, Sirius had shaken him into wakefulness and told him that his parents had left something for him.

* * *

Upon learning that their respective Pensieves contained memories either from or about their parents, Harry and Arcturus both dove into the stone bowls without preamble. When they returned, Harry was smiling from ear to ear, and a little of the light had returned to Arcturus' eyes. Whilst part of him wished his parents had shared the memories with him whilst they had been there to answer his questions about them, he was eternally grateful to Sirius for holding them back until after they were gone because seeing them had pulled him out of the darkness by which he could so very easily have been consumed.

Sharing a knowing look with each other, both orphaned boy reached the same conclusions – their parents may not have been with them for a long time, but they were loved and their legacy would live on within them forever. For Harry, this assurance came in the form of his Patronus, and the protection his mother's blood had left upon him. For Arcturus, it was the knowledge that the little time he spent with his parents would never have been possible without the little piece of themselves the pair had left with their only son.

They'd drunk, then, long into the night; toasting to their loved ones and the victory they could now see within sight. Harry made a fool of himself after his first taste of Fire Whiskey, and the ever adventurous Remus had gotten stuck into some of the Weasley Twins' products with interesting results. Michael Kirsch got a work out when he showed off the Animagus form he had just mastered; the horse-like Padfoot bounding after the lithe wildcat until the portraits started screaming and Severus and his aunt, Elena had emerged from the potions lab to hex them both with ticks.

And in the middle of it all were two dark-haired orphans. Born months apart and deprived of parents by the hand of the same wizard, they were now brothers in all but blood. Neither could truly pinpoint the moment they had transcended from being brothers of circumstance to brothers of bond, but neither were displeased with the way things had turned out. There was a battle ahead, a war to win, and no longer did they have to assume their role in the fight by themselves. Both teens may have been plagued by a prophecy hanging over their head, but one had already come to pass; teaching them that though a prophecy may weild its power from the faith of those that hear them, they seldom tell the whole story. Harry did not have to defeat Voldemort _alone_, and whilst Arcturus had been led into darkness, he'd found a light to guide him home.

END

A/N: Well, that's it from me for a while, I think. Living in London clearly has not been conducive to my Muse (must be the polarity or something) and now, low and behold, I again find myself a mere month-and-change from the inevitable slow march back home to Australia (via a lengthy jaunt in the States if my backpocket can handle it)


End file.
